


Salty Kisses

by snowthunder, thetolkiengeek



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Background Kangst, Background Langst, Beach Resort Owner Allura, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Everyone is in their 20s, F/M, Fluffy then angsty then fluffy again, Garrison trio, Gay Keith (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Keith Is A Little Shit, M/M, Marine Biologist Lance (Voltron), Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Pansexual Hunk (Voltron), Photographer Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Tech Gremlin Pidge, They kiss eventually we promise, Vacation Shiro, bartender Hunk, broganes, like way slower than we thought
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 125,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowthunder/pseuds/snowthunder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetolkiengeek/pseuds/thetolkiengeek
Summary: “I really want to kiss you right now,” Lance stated, turning back to the gulf, the hints of small rolling whitecaps just visible through the darkness. If he wasn’t listening for it, he would have missed the tiny gasp, the slight pause.“Then why don’t you?” Keith all but whispered, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead, the hints of a flush apparent on his cheeks.Lance glanced at Keith from the corner of his eyes, the other boy’s indigo eyes sparkling purple in the moonlight.Because you could very easily break my heart, Lance thought.Because you’re not staying and I’m stuck, and I can’t do that again.“Because I think we could be really good friends,” he said instead, pulling his feet back away from the water.-----Or, the beach au in which Keith and Lance fall in love with themselves by falling in love with each other.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to 'Salty Kisses', the beach au that no one asked for but was written anyways!  
> Olivia and I (me being Dani) have been working on this fic for only three months now, having only come up with it back in March, but it's felt like YEARS. It is our everything. Our opus majus. Our child.  
> But for real, we've put a lot of work into this, creating an entirely made-up Floridian town, a kick-ass playlist (which you can listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/12130135307/playlist/6SObcl35i51J7FAH6KNy6b?si=pe4AvaboRXKXfsPjrleZNg)), and a whole lot of emotional character development *cough cough Lauren and Jaoquim*. 
> 
> We're super excited to share this with you! If you want to follow us on tumblr Olivia is [Wasting My Young Years - London Grammar](http://thetolkiengeek.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D>@thetolkiengeek</a>%20and%20I%20am%20<a%20href=%E2%80%9Chttp://snowthunder.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D>@snowthunder</a>%0A%0AThis%20first%20posting%20is%20just%20a%20prologue%20\(a%20taste%20of%20things%20to%20come\),%20and%20chapter%20one%20will%20drop%20this%20weekend.%20After%20that,%20we%20expect%20to%20post%20on%20a%20monthly%20basis..%20This%20is%20shaping%20up%20to%20be%20a%20Long%20Fic%20so,%20for%20those%20of%20you%20who%20are%20into%20long%20hauls,%20buckle%20the%20fuck%20up%20my%20dudes.<br%20/>%0ALastly,%20special%20thanks%20to%20@invisiblink%20for%20being%20our%20beta%20reader%20and%20fellow%20Klance%20Protection%20Squad%20member%20<3%20\(y'all%20should%20keep%20your%20eye%20out%20on%20her%20she's%20got%20some%20wicked%20awesome%20fics%20in%20the%20works%20too!\).%20%0A%0AFeel%20free%20to%20leave%20comments%20and%20kudos;%20we%20crave%20those%20minerals.%20%0A%0ASongs%20for%20the%20Prologue:<br%20/>%0A<a%20href=)  
> [You Were Afraid - Night Beds](https://open.spotify.com/track/3SMM3O7gngxPKmGXfcdkUk?si=kzOccxejSnOn3J6lwFw72w)

When Keith gently rolled his bike into a vacant spot in the Turtle Key Beach parking lot, his red motorcycle was one of only five vehicles in sight. He slammed the kickstand down and cut the engine, letting his ears readjust to the sounds of the world around him. It was early - so ungodly early - but he had driven all night, and the morning sun hadn’t quite breached the horizon, leaving the sky a map of cool blues and soft lavenders. The air was hot and sticky, but he could already feel a gentle ocean breeze teasing at the collar of his riding jacket. He undid the strap of his helmet and lifted it from his head, breathing in deep the tinge of salt and day-old sunblock.

He reached behind him, into the rear seat compartment and pulled out the smaller of his camera bags before climbing off his bike. God, it was barely six in the morning and the heat in Arus already felt like a wet, unwelcome blanket. He shucked off his jacket and threw it in the travel compartment, finally getting some relief since entering the state hours earlier. Scraping the hair off of his damp neck into a short ponytail, Keith shouldered his bag and headed for the beach.

He had never quite made it this far down the Florida coast before but, if he was being honest, that was mostly out of spite. This wasn’t the first time Shiro had invited him down, just the first time he was taking him up on the offer. As his feet moved from pavement to sand, the phone call he had shared with Shiro just weeks before replayed through Keith’s head.

 

_Keith had just returned to his Boulder BnB after shooting yet another engagement for a couple that he was sure wouldn’t even make it to their wedding, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Exhausted from having to deal with the bickering couple all afternoon, Keith picked up without checking the caller ID._

_“Hello?” he monotoned into the receiver._

_“Keith, hey!” came the overly chipper voice of his brother-slash-cousin. He tried and failed to resist the urge to groan, regretting the day he had ever given his brother his phone number. “Come on, Keith,” Shiro chided, “I just want to talk.”_

_“You always ‘just want to talk.’”_

_“Yeah, well, maybe if you’d actually_ listen _, we’d have to talk less.”_

_Keith rolled his eyes and threw his keys down on the hallway table, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “What is it this time, Shiro? You gonna tell me I’m wasting my life again?”_

_“First of all, I never said you were wasting your life,” Shiro countered. “All I had meant was that you seemed a bit...lost.”_

_Keith scoffed. “I’m pretty sure your exact words were something along the lines of ‘aimlessly wandering through the most important years of my life.’”_

_Shiro sighed, and Keith could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose right where his scar was._

_“You know, for a motivational speaker, you are spectacularly awful at being supportive sometimes.”_

_“Not my finest moment, I’ll admit it,” Shiro conceded. “But, the point still stands.”_

_Keith sat down heavily in the plushest of his current BnB’s living room chairs, expecting another looped repeat of their last five conversations._

_“Which is exactly why I called to invite you down to stay with me in Arus for a while,” Shiro continued._

Wait, what?

 _Shiro gave a half-hearted chuckle._ Shit _, Keith thought. He must’ve said that out loud. “You remember my friend from college, Allura Altea?”_

_“No.”_

_“Well, I’ve been consulting for her business for a while now, and she’s got property down on the Gulf Coast. I’ve got a timeshare--”_

_Keith broke out into a spluttering laugh. “Really? A timeshare? What, did it come with a golf club membership and a guaranteed slot on the shuffleboard roster?”_

_“...maybe. Shut up and pay attention.”_

_Keith caught himself smiling a bit. Nothing cheered him up more than pointing out that his brother was already eighty years old._

_“Okay, okay. Fine, I’m listening.”_

_“_ As I was saying _, I’ve got a timeshare at her resort on the Gulf Coast. It’s right on the beach, there’s even a pool and an outdoor bar. Not to mention the food down here is just amazing.”_

_“Sounds like every other resort on the eastern seaboard.” Keith wasn’t entirely sure what Shiro was getting at but the fortifying breath he took on the other end of the line hinted at the words that followed._

_“True, but every other resort doesn’t have me. I just thought it would be nice to actually spend some time together. I’ve missed you...”_

_Keith sensed something was off. “And?”_

_“And what?” Shiro asked, much too innocently for Keith’s taste._

_“Don’t ‘and what’ me. Say what you really want to say, Shiro.”_

_Silence. And then…_

_“I was also thinking that maybe it’d be good for you to, you know, sit still for a while. You’ve been all but living on your bike for the last few years.”_

_“There it is.”_

_“I’m just worried about you is all, Keith,” Shiro continued. “It’s an open invitation, take it or leave it, but I’ll be here all summer.”_

_Keith sighed long and hard, pinching his nose in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of Shiro. “You know how I feel about tourists and crowded places.” He could imagine all too easily the overpacked beaches and filled resorts._

_Shiro perked up at this. “Good news then!” he announced. “It’s the off-season so it’ll practically be empty.”_

_“I’m not sure, Shiro…”_

_“It’s up to you. But think of it as a chance to recuperate, maybe add some new angles to your portfolio. You’ve never shot landscapes like they have down here.”_

_Shit. Shiro had him there. “...I’ll think about it.”_

_Keith could practically hear the smile in Shiro’s voice. “That’s all I’m asking.”_

 

A week later, Keith passed through St. Louis but, instead of taking his usual route up north towards Boston and home, he found himself turning south, found himself calling Shiro back for the first time in who knew how long.

And that brought Keith to where he was now, heavy boots kicking up soft white sand and a salty breeze tickling the wispy fly-away hairs at his neck. He passed a set of swings and picnic shelters, winding his way through the concrete support pylons for nondescript, raised structures. He followed the short path, surrounded on both sides by tall grass and spiky plants, out onto the main beach where the sand opened up and stretched for miles.  

His breath caught at the expanse of it all. The soft blue hues of the morning dampened the white, powdery sand to a dusky rose, and the quiet was made all the more apparent by the gentle crashing of the waves. Four lifeguard stands stood like silent sentinels side by side by side, yellow, red, green, then blue.  Keith’s fingers itched to capture them with his camera, the shot’s composition already forming in his mind’s eye. Shallow depth of field, a low ISO, and the “cloudy” white balance option to draw out the warmer tones of the scene…

He pulled out his Nikon, stuffing the lens cap in his pocket, and fiddled with the settings. He peered through the viewfinder but, just as he was lining up the shot, a group of people moved into frame. He took a few test shots anyway, feeling the satisfying _shhk_ of the shutter.

Pulling up the photos on the playback menu, he shuffled through them, zooming in and out to check that everything was in focus. _Not bad for test shots_ , Keith thought to himself. Except...

He squinted and zoomed back in to the group. Almost all of them were in sharp focus, crisply defined and softly illuminated, with the exception of one. Odd. He turned the dial to flip through the next few photos, hoping that he got at least one shot of all six people in focus. But one person, the same lanky and long-limbed individual each time, managed to move at the exact wrong moment, the camera unable to capture anything more than a sense of dark brown hair and deeply tanned skin.

Keith pouted, perturbed at his ruined shots, and slung his camera over his shoulder, shielding it from the sand as he trudged the rest of the way down to the coast. He was starting to regret his choice of footwear, the soft sand giving away easily under his heavy boots, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at this point. He was not about to deal with the consequences of sandy feet in motorcycle boots.

Instead, he decided he had walked far enough and plopped down onto the sand, careful to keep his camera high on his hip away from the ground. He gazed out onto the calm waters of the gulf, the sun finally breaching the treeline behind him and washing away the hazy pre-dawn blues with shocks of red and orange.

A peal of laughter drew Keith’s eyes to his left where the group from before was setting stakes into the ground in squares, winding obnoxiously bright orange-y pink tape around them. One person in particular, the offending mystery blur, Keith noted, flitted between the others, eyes glued to the ground. Every once in a while he would let out an excited shout and his friends would follow with more stakes and neon tape. Keith wasn’t sure how long he watched this group enact their strange ritual, but by the time he turned back towards the water, the sun had fully risen and illuminated the water.

Keith hadn’t realized the ocean could be this calm. He also hadn’t realized it would be this...green.  
Over the past few years, he’d seen a lot of water - lakes, oceans, rivers, waterfalls. Somehow the thing inside him that itched to run hadn’t felt quite so loud when there was water to drown it out. But this felt different. It wasn’t the turbulent deep blue of the Pacific, and it wasn’t the wild grey-blue of the Atlantic. This was a sea-glass green, bright and sunny and warm, waves both somehow crashing and calm. It invited something still into one’s mind.  
He was starting to see why Shiro loved it so much here...

...which was exactly the problem.

He flopped back in the sand, clutching his camera to his stomach, and stared up at the increasingly bright sky. He’d been here for less than two hours and already Keith felt as if the humidity were choking him, stagnant and stale. He never did well with stillness.

He almost laughed at the irony. He was a photographer, he reveled in stillness. In the satisfaction of having captured a living, moving subject in a frozen instance of complete and clear focus. And yet, he himself felt almost like the mystery blur he had captured not an hour ago. Constantly in motion, heading from one place to the next before any sense of complacency could settle in.

Keith sighed loudly through his nose and turned his head to the left, feeling the sand shift beneath his cheek. The group seemed to have finished whatever it was they were doing, shoving leftover stakes and tape into their backpacks. They jostled and joked with each other as they headed back towards the parking lot, one laugh in particular punctuating the air louder and more frequently than the others. He watched them go only turning his eyes back skyward once the last of the group had moved beyond the seagrass and out of sight.

Heaving himself up from the sand, Keith put his camera back into its bag and rested his arms atop his knees. Lazy gulf coast waves continued to break against the shore like an oceanic metronome, almost mocking Keith in their sluggishness.

He had promised Shiro that he would try, but heaven knew how long he would last in a place like this.


	2. Welcome to Altea Beach Resort and Spa!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wakes up and finds Vacation Shiro, who’s taken it upon himself to make sure Keith makes friends. Keith’s not convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Zuko here...jk Olivia aka [thetolkiengeek](http://www.thetolkiengeek.tumblr.com)  
> Dani ([snowthunder](http://www.snowthunder.tumblr.com)) introduced the fic pretty well, but I thought I’d say a few things
> 
> This fic started as a joke about Lance living where I grew up (this boy is a Florida boy and I will stand by that OKAY) and then it morphed into some klangsty, beachy feels, and now it’s sort of a love letter to my hometown? Basically, if you read anything that’s like oddly specific plants or something about marine life conservation, that’s me, and if you read something that talks about how shocking A/C is, that’s Dani because she’s a "New York Bitch". Also, any and all connections to a very real place are completely coincidental and not me projecting, nope.
> 
> Anyway, these notes are already long, so I’ll try and keep this short.
> 
> We’re aiming to update ~once a month, and we’re hoping that all the chapters are going to be about this long. We’ve got most of the story planned out, and ch 2 is already in the works. It’s gonna be a long fic so buckle the fuck up my dudes. 
> 
> Anyway, we’re having a ton of fun writing this, and we hope you have a ton of fun reading this.
> 
> Shoutout again to [invisiblink](http://www.invisiblink.tumblr.com) for being an excellent beta.
> 
> Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments! The more comments, the faster we type (not that we’re bribing you or anything…)
> 
> Songs for Ch 1  
> [Runaway - the National](https://open.spotify.com/track/0ixsO0C70FhixBXjBgaCSP?si=8QRdxj3fT9CLQFJzAv7YAg)  
> [Safe - Bay Ledges](https://open.spotify.com/track/72X7mJmnx6pHyRWvtelVkL?si=bySOANqiQjWqZUhFJvJB7Q)

Keith woke up squinting in the bright sunlight streaming through a set of blinds to his right. He barely remembered falling asleep let alone finding Shiro’s condo yesterday, exhausted as he was. Shiro had taken one look at him and ushered him to bed, where Keith collapsed into a numb and dreamless sleep without even taking his jacket off. But, judging by the fact that he hadn’t woken up with the sensation of leather sticking to his skin or imprints of zippers on his cheek, Shiro had at least tried to tuck him in.

Keith stretched and burrowed deeper into his blankets. The A/C in the villa was blasting at full force, filling the space with a glacial air completely at odds with the brutal heat and humidity Keith remembered from yesterday.

A muted buzzing on the nightstand pulled Keith’s attention to his phone. He stared bleary eyed at the display, vaguely noting the time (12:23 pm), and multiple messages from _Kashi Go Lean Crunch_ lined up on the lockscreen. Keith snorted, still amused by his own cleverness, but mostly by the way it had annoyed Shiro when he first came up with the name (“It’s not even good cereal, Keith! It tastes like rocks.”).

The first of Shiro’s messages had rolled in at 9:07 am with a cheery _Good Morning Keith!_ and an assortment of various beach-themed emojis. Keith groaned. Shiro may have been 28 but he texted like he was a 45 year old soccer mom with two kids, a minivan, and a labradoodle named Daisy. The message continued with a short, _I’ll be at the pool whenever you wake up. No rush!_

Keith’s brain was still addled with the fogginess of a much needed sleep but eventually it caught up with reality. Judging by the rumbling in his stomach and the backlog of texts and emails, he’d slept through all of the day yesterday, at least twenty hours.

“Shit,” Keith muttered. He thumbed through the rest of the messages, each one progressively more parental and concerned.

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[10:11 am]**

_Don’t sleep too long or you’ll get a headache! There’s no food in the house so come get me when you’re up and ready to eat._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[10:57 am]**

_A lot of places will be stopping breakfast soon, so you may have to deal with lunch as your first meal. I’m here when you’re ready._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[11:36 am]**

_I know I said ‘whenever you wake up’ but try not to sleep the day away. Again._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[12:22 pm]**

_Alright, I’m sure you’re still just tired from driving but if you don’t respond soon I’m coming back over there to check on you._

 

Keith sighed and sent out a quick _Keep your shirt on, I’m up_ , before tossing his phone into the sea of sheets. He rolled over on the bed, throwing an arm over his face with a groan. Given the opportunity, he’d probably sleep for another ten hours at least, but the persistent buzzing of his phone and the rumbling of his stomach weren’t allowing it. He took a moment to mentally prepare himself for the task of confronting his golden retriever of a brother, savoring his last few minutes of peace.

Swinging his feet over the edge of the mattress, Keith padded across the room, grabbing essentially whatever clothes his hands touched first. When he stepped out of the condo’s front door ten minutes later in artfully ripped skinny jeans and a black t-shirt, he realized what a mistake his lack of forethought had been. The heat slammed into him the moment he stepped outside, the sun beating down mercilessly onto his pale, unprotected face. The air was so much stickier than it had any right to be, the humidity a monstrous, tangible thing. All at once, Keith was feeling very nostalgic for Colorado and its temperate mountain terrain.

Normally, Keith would have sucked it up and let his fuck-it attitude override his urge to go back and change, but that was before his fuck-it attitude came to Florida.

He turned to go back inside to the safety of the air conditioning, maybe change into the one pair of shorts he owned, but when he tried the handle, he met unyielding resistance. He jiggled the offending handle twice more, just to make sure the universe really was taking this opportunity to shit all over him. The door remained locked.

 _Well, fuck_.

Keith let his head bang against the door twice in frustrated defeat. Guess he’d have to tough it out, not willing to admit to Shiro that he had been bested by a lock and his own stupidity. He checked his phone again, a new message waiting for him on the lockscreen.

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[12:41 pm]**

_I’m out back by the pool, come get me whenever you’re ready!_

 

Keith looked up and shaded his face with his hand, noting that he also had forgotten sunglasses. _Good one, Kogane_ , he chastised himself.

He hadn’t really taken in the view when he had hauled his exhausted ass up the front stairs the day before, but now that he was decidedly more awake, Keith had to admit that this place was really nice. The main resort sat to Keith’s right, a beautiful two-storey building in white stucco, complete with elegant columns and a water fountain in the middle of a circular drive. A sign in a silvery scrolling font that read _Altea Beach Resort and Spa_ greeted those who approached the main building from the road. To the left of the resort were the four squat buildings that made up the villas. Each one was painted a washed-out white stucco to match the resort, with sea-green accents around the windows, and appeared to consist of two units. Shiro’s unit faced the beach, the covered porch looking directly out onto the stretch of powder-fine white sand that edged the dramatic jewel tones of the gulf. From the porch, Keith could see the high-rise condos to the right of the main resort stretching above the spiky palm trees.

God, there were a lot of palm trees.

As Keith descended the stairs, he could hear the splashes and screams of kids coming from the raised pool deck, but that too was obscured by the dense pom poms atop the palms. Keith walked along the path, the sun-bleached pavement radiating heat, turned a corner and entered the main resort building.

Blessedly cool air conditioning rushed through when he pulled the door open, engulfing Keith in air that didn’t require swimming lessons to walk through. He crossed the threshold and was greeted by the sight of marble floors, graceful pillars, and sea-green accents. Straight ahead was the check-in desk, to the left a lounge area and hallway that led promisingly towards the back of the building. The right side led to the frosted doors of what Keith could only assume was the spa.

A young woman, probably in her early twenties, was manning the desk. She had big gold earrings and a kind face, and when she spoke her voice was light.

“Welcome to Altea Beach Resort and Spa! You here to check in?”

Keith shook his head. “Actually, I’m looking for the pool.”

“Are you a guest here?” she asked, giving his skinny jeans a pointed look.

Keith scratched the back of his neck. “Sort of? I’m staying with my brother in one of the villas.”

Immediately, her face brightened again. “Oh, of course! You must be Shiro’s brother.”

Keith gave a pained facsimile of a smile. Of fucking course they knew Shiro. “Yup, that’s me.”

The young woman, _Shay_ , Keith read on her nametag, gave him a genuine smile. “Just follow the signs around to the left, past the daycare and gym. The doors are right out back, you can’t miss them.”

This time, the smile Keith gave Shay was a little less forced.

“Thanks,” he said before stepping around the desk towards the hallway. On his way out back, he passed a room covered in marine animal stickers, the door cracked open just enough so Keith could clearly hear someone reading a story out loud. _The daycare then_ , he thought. A sudden outburst from the overly enthusiastic narrator sent a group of kids giggling and screaming. Keith shook his head, a tiny smiling creeping its way onto his face.

He breezed past the gym and rounded a small bend in the hallway where two gracefully arched glass doors were spilling a healthy dose of Floridian sunlight onto the marble floors. Keith really had to admit that the entire resort was a truly beautiful building. Full of curving spaces, high ceilings, and light colors, it was exactly the kind of place Keith could imagine a tourism commercial being filmed.

Keith put his hands on the cool metal of the door handles and took a fortifying breath of A/C-chilled air before immersing himself once more into the oppressive heat and humidity.

The pool deck stretched out before him in greens, browns, and blues. Palms and tall grasses lined the sides, offering a modicum of privacy from the villas to the left and the walkway from the highrise to the right. To Keith’s left was an outdoor bar, a sea-foam green awning offering some relief from the intensity of the sun. The deck itself was a kind of imitation wood in light browns and tans and, at the center of the space, was the pool. The water shimmered a vibrant cerulean under the afternoon sun and it was surrounded by a collection of blue, covered chairs.

Most of the chairs seemed to be empty, save for the few families and couples who decided to brave the heat, which made spotting Shiro relatively easy. He was alone, tucked into one of the chairs on the far side of the pool, his face obscured by the shade of the chair’s awning, his sunglasses, and…

Keith squinted. _Was he…?_ _No way._

But, alas, as Keith approached Shiro he could see that Shiro was, indeed, sporting a ridiculous strip of sunscreen right down the bridge of his nose. God, he was such a grandpa.

“You look like Larry the Lobster,” Keith deadpanned when he was standing right beside Shiro’s chair.

Shiro looked up from the phone he had been intensely typing away on and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. Keith thought it was a good thing that Shiro’s bangs were white unlike the rest of his black hair, since the nose-bridge of his Aviators smeared a decent amount of bright sunscreen through those front strands.

“Melanoma is no laughing matter, Keith,” Shiro replied seriously returning to tapping away at his phone’s screen, his prosthetic arm glinting in the sun as he moved. “Besides,” he pouted, “I think it makes me look more like David Hasselhoff.”

Keith scoffed. “You wish.”

Shiro finished off whatever message he was working on and sent it off with a synthetic _whoosh_. He set his phone aside, swapping it out for the drink collecting condensation beside him. Keith noted with interest that the glass was set atop a napkin addressed to ‘Muscles’ with a phone number and rather lewd winky face scrawled across it.

Shiro noticed his gaze and chuckled. “Ah, don’t mind that. Just one of the staff being...well, himself.” Shiro’s face held a fondly exasperated gaze that Keith found familiar. “Now that you’re finally up, what do you want to do? The pool’s nice this time of day, or there’s always the beach.”

Keith’s stomach took that moment as an opportunity to voice its opinion. “I will literally die within the next twenty minutes if you do not find me food,” Keith translated.

“Food it is then,” Shiro grinned. “Besides,” he continued seeming to really look at Keith for the first since he arrived, “you’re not exactly dressed for the Florida summer. Don’t you have anything less… black?”

Keith pursed his lips and avoided Shiro’s gaze. “I’ve been working on assignments in the Rockies, Shiro. It’s not exactly the kind of place you bring shorts.” This was all lies, of course. Keith had brought one pair of shorts with him, but they were securely packed away in his bag which remained behind a locked door he forgot to grab a key for.

“And,” Keith added, flicking the collar of Shiro’s god-awful Tommy Bahama shirt, “at least I don’t look like I stepped off a photoshoot for Retirement Magazine.”

“At least I’m not already sweating buckets,” Shiro countered.

Keith couldn’t deny that one. The Florida sun was relentless, his black clothing soaking up every bit of heat. He could already feel his neck starting to burn.

“Can we please just go get some food?” Keith pleaded, his stomach basically trying to eat itself at that point. He wasn’t ashamed to say that he was cranky when he was hungry. He was cranky when he wasn’t hungry, but that was more of a character flaw than anything else.

Shiro gave out a little chuckle at that and moved to get up. “Alright, alright, I get it, you need a Snickers.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You can’t let one dad joke slide, can you?”

“Nope. Now let’s go get you some food.”

 

~^~^~^~

 

Shiro didn’t bother taking his car, much to Keith’s chagrin. If he couldn’t drive his motorcycle, he at least wanted to ride in Shiro’s black Tesla, complete with the entirely impractical butterfly doors and a really bad name (Kuron, after some kids cartoon). Instead, Shiro dragged him down the faded sidewalk, walking about ten minutes down the street to a stretch of beachfront lined with restaurants.

Desperate for food, Keith let Shiro lead him into the first place he recommended. Turns out it was--get this--a fish place. The floors mimicked a faded boardwalk, and the walls were covered in fishing nets and plaques that said things like “I’D RATHER BE FISHING” or “I’M ON ISLAND TIME.”

Keith visibly recoiled, and Shiro had just patted him on the back, ushering him in.

“This place is good, I promise.”

Keith seriously doubted that, but his growling stomach didn’t particularly give a shit.

They were seated right away, one of the few patrons in the restaurant.

“Are you sure this place is legit? It doesn’t seem like a lot of people are here…” Keith said, more than a little apprehensive. He really, _really_ didn’t want to eat bad fish.

“I told you, it’s not season. Everyone leaves by June around here,” Shiro said, unconcernedly looking over the menu.

Well, that was one bonus to being in Florida during the summer. This whole town almost felt sleepy compared to Boulder. _Good_ , Keith thought. _The fewer people I have to deal with the better_.

At that point, the waitress came by, taking their orders.

“Really, Shiro? Shrimp and grits?”

Shiro shrugged. “First of all, it’s shrimp n’ grits. Second of all, it’s really good! When in Rome, right?”

Keith rolled his eyes, downing most of his water in an attempt to drown out the heat. Though, the omnipresent indoor A/C was much more effective, the sweat on the back of his neck already cooling.

“So…” Shiro said as he placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Keith said, leaning back.

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

“Yes, you did,” Keith countered, “You said ‘so’. That means you’re about to lecture me again, I can feel it.”

“I’m not going to lecture you!” Shiro laughed.

Keith scoffed. “Oh yes, you are. You’ve got your TED Talk face on.”

Shiro made a face. “I don’t have a TED Talk face.”

“You most definitely do and you’re doing it now. You get all serious and you use your puppy-dog eyes,” Keith said, smirking a bit.

“It’s not like I do it on purpose, you know,” Shiro said pouting. “It’s not my fault I do a lot of TED Talks.”

Keith didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows. Shiro had found his calling as a business consultant, somehow able to pick apart exactly why something wasn’t working on a team or with a strategic plan. His reputation had grown rather quickly and soon he had started giving lectures on disability, visibility, and success in the workplace. He had also managed to attract quite a following on social media platforms. Keith suspected it had to do in large part with the fact that most people considered his brother, and these were not his words, “smoking hot.” And possibly his ability to say just about anything and make it seem sincere. Heaven knew it wasn’t for Shiro’s photographic skills on instagram. How he had a brother who still used filter borders was beyond him.

Shiro sighed and leaned back in his chair, his shoulders falling. “I didn’t invite you down to lecture you,” he started, his voice quiet. “I just thought it’d be nice for us to spend some time together. We’ve barely had a conversation the past few years that hasn’t ended with us fighting, and for that I’m sorry.”

His eyes met Keith’s, and Keith felt the tension leaving his shoulders as well. “Thanks, Shiro,” he said and meant it.

“I just really wanted to see you, look at your face when I asked you how you’re doing,” Shiro said in his annoyingly earnest way.

Keith felt himself deflate entirely. How was he doing? God, what a simple question with such a complicated answer.

He could lie, he could do what he had always done, say what he always said to his family. Say he was fine, that he was happy, that this was what he wanted to be doing with his life. But Shiro had a way of cutting through the bullshit. If Keith was being honest with himself, he would admit that part of the reason he always picked fights with Shiro was as a way to distract everyone from the reality of the situation. Himself included. Then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to confront the fact that his life wasn’t going as planned, that no matter how many miles he drove, as soon as he stopped the engine on his bike, he felt stuck again, felt the atmosphere closing in around his throat.

Keith leaned forward, hunching over the table a little as if to shield himself from the truth. “I don’t know really know how I’m doing,” he confessed, honest for the first time in a long time.

Shiro’s brow furrowed in confused concern. “What do you mean?”

Keith huffed out a tired laugh. “Honestly, I’m not even sure anymore. There’s just so much that I need to sort through and I’ve been avoiding doing it for so long now, but I just can’t seem to sit still long enough.”

“Is that why you’ve been practically living off your bike these past few years? To run away from things?”

Keith picked at his nails, tearing off frayed cuticles in tiny stinging strips. “That’s part of it, yeah.”

“I see. What about the other part?” Shiro asked.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it just yet.”

“Keith,” Shiro said. “Keith, look at me.”

Keith dragged his eyes away from the particularly interesting floor scuff he had been eyeing throughout this conversation, and met Shiro’s gaze.

He might have expected an exacerbated Shiro, or even a confused Shiro, but instead he simply gave Keith an understanding smile. “It’s alright not to have it all figured out right now. I know I always come across as the cranky older brother nagging you to get your life together, but if what you need right now is time and space then that’s what I’ll give you. Take your time,” he said gently. “You’ve got plenty of it.”

Keith felt every breath he’d been holding for the past four years leave him at once. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until it was said. It seemed like everyone and their mother had things figured out by the time they turned twenty, but here Keith was, twenty four and wandering aimlessly, living off a trust fund larger than he knew what to do with and whatever he made off his freelance photography.

But Keith was lucky, he knew that. Not everyone could afford to just skip out from reality, buy a nice bike, and live on the road. Especially when they didn’t even have a college education to their name. The only thing that had kept Keith going all this time was the freedom his family’s financial status afforded him and, if he was feeling self-charitable, his photography skills. As long as he had his bike and his camera, Keith felt like he would be alright just about anywhere. Or, at least, that was how he used to feel. Nowadays, it was all just a garbled mess in his head.

Luckily, the waitress chose that moment to return with heaping plates of food, saving Keith from continuing down his introspective spiral. Shiro took pity on him and didn’t approach anymore serious lunchtime topics, opting instead to make small talk about the town - Arus, Keith recalled - and his most recent consulting jobs. Keith would never tell him this, but he had missed this version of his brother. Shiro worked harder than anyone Keith knew, giving everything he had to every job, every client. Not to mention, Shiro had been through a lot already in his life. He’d certainly had his own problems, there was no doubt, but Shiro had also been there for Keith throughout all of his troubles too. It was nice to see him actually relaxing and taking some time for himself and his own needs.

Even if that meant Shiro fell into some tragically cliché fashion habits.

The two finished up their lunch - which Keith discovered was actually really good, tacky restaurant decor notwithstanding - and headed back into the stifling heat towards the resort. When they strolled back through the graceful front doors Keith was blasted once more with cool, crisp A/C. The constant temperature changes from hot to cold to hot again reminded him of when he and Shiro would jump between the hot tub and pool as kids.

Keith started to head towards the back doors for the pool deck but stopped short when Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hold up, Keith,” he said. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

Keith’s eyes tightened in suspicion, but he decided to roll with it since he couldn’t go back to the villa without Shiro anyway. Like it or not, his wagon was hitched to Shiro’s today. Fuck, he really needed a key.

Shiro led them off to the left where a set of stainless steel elevator doors stood tucked behind the lounge. He pressed the call button and the doors slid silently open. Keith followed Shiro in and they ascended to the second floor.

The doors dinged cheerily as they opened up to what was clearly a restaurant entrance. The tables were all covered with starched, white tablecloths, and candle votives placed perfectly in the center. Most of the restaurant was indoors, but Keith could see a deck through the back of the space.

This, however, turned out not to be their destination as Shiro began walking down the longer hallway to the right of the restaurant, through a door clearly marked STAFF ONLY.

“Uh...Shiro? Are you sure we’re supposed to be back here?” Keith asked.

“It’s fine,” Shiro assured him. “I told you, Allura’s an old friend.”

“Allura?”

Shiro sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. “You really don’t remember her, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Keith replied.

“We were friends in college.”

Keith continued to stare blankly ahead. “You were friends with a lot of people, Shiro. As I recall, you were in a fraternity, even.”

“She came to visit that one time over spring break?”

Keith just shrugged.

“You’re impossible,” Shiro groaned.

“I have never once in my life pretended to be a people person.”

Shiro muttered something under his breath that sounded a bit like, “Clearly not,” before turning to knock on a door that read ‘Allura Altea’ in golden block letters. A muffled reply to enter came through the wood and Shiro led Keith in.

The office matched the rest of the resort in that it followed the same seaside color scheme, with warm wooden floors lighting the room up with a soft glow. Like everything else at the resort, it was stunning and drew the eye, but the woman who sat behind the elegant glass and metal desk - Allura, Keith assumed - put everything else to shame. Her luminescent white hair was pulled up into a graceful half-bun, the rest flowing freely over her shoulders and down her back, standing in stark opposition to the rich brown tones of her skin. Her eyes were a perplexing combination of blues, greens, and purples. Keith immediately began trying think of ways to photograph her, mentally carding through lighting choices and location possibilities that would best highlight her strikingly contrasting features.

“Shiro!” she said warmly, standing up from her desk. “This is a pleasant surprise.”  

“Hey, Allura!” Shiro greeted her, his voice noticeably higher than Keith has ever heard it. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Allura rounded her desk and gave Shiro a quick hug, completely unaware of the blush creeping quickly up the back of his neck. “What brings you by?” she asked, pulling away.

Shiro cleared his throat and gestured slightly behind him towards Keith. “I wanted to re-introduce you to my brother, Keith. It’s been quite a while since you two met so I wasn’t sure if you’d remember him.”

“Of course I remember him!” she replied, mockingly affronted that Shiro would insinuate such a thing. She offered Keith a warm smile and her hand, the latter of which he took, surprised at the strength of her grip. “It’s so very nice to see you again, Keith.”

“Likewise.” Now that she was in front of him, Keith had a vague recollection of Allura from some break of Shiro’s a few years back. The hair and the accent, which Keith had just realized was decidedly posh-British, are familiar but beyond that his memory of her from before was rather murky.

Shiro looked at Keith sideways, a judging smirk on his face as if to say, _‘See, she remembers! Your memory just sucks’_.

Keith kicked him as subtly as he could without breaking eye contact with Allura. Shiro grunted a little and shifted his weight. Allura either didn’t notice or elected to ignore their brotherly antics, although Keith would bet money that this woman didn’t miss a thing.

“When did you get in?” she asked Keith, stepping back to lean against her desk.

“Early yesterday morning,” he told her. “I drove pretty much all night though so I sort of slept most of the day.”

Allura’s eyebrows ticked up ever so slightly. “Goodness! I hope it was at least a good drive.”

Keith waved off her concern. “I’ve driven my bike a lot further through a lot worse. It wasn’t too bad.”

“Shiro!” Allura exclaimed.

Shiro jolted at her sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“You let your brother drive all the way here by himself at night on a _motorcycle_?”

“Allura, he’s twenty-four and has been riding that bike for years.” Shiro placed a trademark dad-pat on Keith’s shoulder. “Besides, Keith could drive circles around most pros at this point.”

Allura pursed her lips. “Still, that must be wretched on your back.” She turned back to Keith. “You should take advantage of the spa while you’re here. The massage therapists on staff are nothing short of miracle workers.”

Keith raised his hands almost defensively. “Really,” he said, “it’s no big deal. I do it all the time so I’m used to it.”

“Well if you feel the want or need don’t hesitate to book an appointment.” Allura winked at him cheekily. “Friends and family discount, I insist.”

Keith mumbled a thank you, a bit unsure how to process Allura’s immediate and unquestioning kindness. He was beginning to understand why she was able to reduce Shiro to a jittery, blushing mess. If he had any taste for women at all, he’d probably be in the same boat.

“So what are you two up to for the rest of the day?” Allura asked.

Shiro shrugged, glancing quickly at Keith. “Whatever Keith wants really. I just assumed we’d head back down to the pool and go from there.”

“Here’s an idea for you then,” Allura started. “I was just about to do a round of the resort, so why don’t I accompany you back down and I can give Keith an informal tour on the way. I’m sure you haven’t gotten to see much more than the front desk and the pool.”

To be honest, Keith wasn’t quite in the mood for a tour but the excited glint in Allura’s eyes tipped the scale. That and Keith got the feeling she was the kind of woman who could lead armies across a battlefield in her designer heels and not get a speck on her. Therefore, not the kind you said no to.

“Sounds great,” Keith told her.

“Excellent. Just give me a tick to grab my phone and keys.”

When Allura turned around to rummage through her stuff, Keith turned to Shiro and flicked his eyes meaningfully between the two of them, raising one of his eyebrows suggestively. Frantically, Shiro shook his head, his face turning an embarrassing beet red.

Allura turned back, brandishing her keys with a little jingle. “Alright, let’s go…” she trailed off, tilting her head. “You know, Shiro, you look a bit red, you should really be more careful about putting on sunscreen. The Florida sun can be quite relentless.”

Keith unsuccessfully stifled a laugh, “Yeah, Shiro. Melanoma is no laughing matter.”

Keith dodged an elbow but caught his hand on Shiro’s prosthetic, biting his tongue to keep from yelping. Shiro’s super high-tech arm was supposed to be light carbon-fiber, but at that moment, it felt like a brick.

Shiro looked smug as they followed Allura out of her office.

“So, this is the second and topmost floor of the main resort,” Allura explained as they began trekking back down the hallway they came in, passing a succession of doors. “There are some rooms here for storage, the kitchens, and back there is my office, of course.”

Keith tried his best not to tune her out and keep a mildly interested look plastered on his face. They exited the STAFF ONLY door and stopped at the front of the restaurant entrance.

“It’s not season, so we’re only open for dinner, but you should really check out the balcony when you have the chance,” Allura said, gesturing out to where Keith could just see the deck overlooking the expanse of blinding white sand punctuated by the sea-green gulf. “Not to mention, the kitchen staff are absolute wizards,” she noted with a wink.

The three entered the elevator to head back downstairs, but Keith made sure to move so that Shiro was forced to stand next to Allura, “accidentally” shoving his brother into her on his way out the elevator doors.

“Oops, my bad,” Keith said, not bothering to hide a grin.

Allura, to her credit, didn’t even bat an eyelash, just gently stepped out of Shiro’s way. “Quite alright, it happens all the time,” she said, though Keith would swear he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes.

They entered the main lobby, and Allura gestured grandly around her. “As I’m sure you’re aware, this is the main lobby, and to the right of the front desk you’ll see the spa. We’re equipped with a full-time massage therapist, a steam room, a mudroom, and a nail salon.”

Okay, Keith’s eyes were officially glazing over. He nodded absentmindedly, eyes wandering across the lobby. His eyes caught on Shay at the front desk, and she gave a friendly wave.

Shiro noticed the movement and approached the desk, a warm smile on his face. “Hey, Shay!” he greeted her. “How’s your brother?”

Shay grinned back. “Oh, same as always. I think he’s working the gym today.”

Allura beckoned for Keith to follow and led him over. “Shay, this is Shiro’s brother, Keith,” she said gesturing in his direction.

“We’ve met,” Keith said with a small smile.

Shay nodded. “Although, I’m excited to formally meet you, Keith. Shiro talks about you a lot, you know.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

Shay and Allura just laughed.

“Don’t worry, Keith, all good things,” Allura said.

Keith squinted suspiciously at Shiro but decided that it wasn’t worth it for him to interrogate his brother. All he wanted was to get a key to the villa and some shorts. The sooner they finished this tour, the sooner he could rid himself of his skinny jeans.

Shiro chatted amiably with Shay for a few moments more, asking her questions about the rest of her family, her classes, and her summer so far. Truthfully, Keith was a little envious of Shiro’s ability to make friends so quickly and so easily. Keith had never been much of a people person, always finding making personal connections rather difficult. He had tried to emulate Shiro’s open nature, his friendly smiles and attentive attitude, but what Shiro had was something that Keith could never achieve no matter how hard he tried. It’s not that Shiro was simply friendly and kind, he genuinely cared about other people - their worries, their cares, what makes them happy, what makes them sad. Keith didn’t _not_ care, it just took longer for him to open up and really trust people. He had been burned before and didn’t care to repeat the occasion.

They waved goodbye to Shay and headed off to the left of the desk, the way Keith had gone earlier to get to the pool.

“-two rooms are newer additions,” Allura was saying, drawing Keith out of his reverie. “This is the daycare,” she said pointing to the first door, “and that is the gym,” she finished gesturing to the second.

“I had meant to ask,” Shiro interjected, “how is the daycare going?”

Allura’s eyes lit up. “Quite well actually! It was a great success with the guests during last season and the staff program has been a resounding triumph. It’s really lessened the burden on many of the single parents here being able to bring their kids in with them rather than hiring a nanny or utilizing a local daycare. Not to mention,” she continued conspiratorially, “with what we’re able to charge our more...well to-do guests, the staff program doesn’t cost a penny extra.”

Shiro’s face beamed with pride. “That’s so great to hear!”

“I’m quite pleased with it all around really. I thought that the off-season might present a challenge what with our normal caregiver needing to cut back their hours for summer courses, but Lance has been an absolute godsend.”

“You know,” Shiro said with a chuckle, “that doesn’t surprise me.” He looked at Keith abruptly then. “That reminds me. Keith, you should meet Lance. You guys are about the same age.”

“And of course that means we’ll automatically be friends,” Keith said, unable to keep the sarcasm from seeping into his voice.

“Hey, I just meant that there aren’t a lot of young people here, especially during the off-season, and it could be a chance for you to make a new friend, that’s all.”

Keith tried not to be annoyed. His brother meant well, but Keith wasn’t interested in making friends or putting down any new roots. The roots he already had only seemed to trip him up most days anyways. As it was, Keith had no idea how long he would last here until he felt the familiar noose of sedentism settled around his neck. His bet with himself was a week, and even that was optimistic.

Keith shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know, Shiro. You know how I can be with new people,” he muttered.

Shiro made a face Keith had trouble deciphering. “True. And Lance can be - well, he’s a bit...abrasive at first, but he grows on you.”

Allura nodded and chuckled quietly. “Like a fungus. But truly,” she continued, “he’s really quite a wonderful person once you get to know him. Plus, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are kind of a package deal. They’re a riot together, honestly.”

“Hmm.” Keith wasn’t sure how he felt about befriending a fungus.

Shiro threw up a placating hand. “Look, I’m not saying you have to best friends or anything, just that he’s around and a decent person. Do with that information what you will.”

Keith merely pursed his lips a bit and grunted in acknowledgement of Shiro’s words. At this point, Keith was interested to know who exactly this Lance was, but mainly because he was curious as to how this guy managed to elicit such responses from both Shiro and Allura. Granted, he hadn’t known Allura long, but Keith had the feeling she was not an easy person to impress.

The three continued down the hallway and finally emerged onto the pool deck. Keith squinted in the sudden brightness of the sunlight and sneezed. He shaded his face with a hand, fervently wishing he had thought to grab his sunglasses this morning. And also his keys. And his will to live.

Allura led Keith and Shiro to the right and around the pool, pointing out the landscaping surrounding the area, features of the pool (of which there were more than Keith thought possible or entirely necessary), and the services available to guests on the deck. They circled nearly the entire area before stopping in front of an outdoor bar to the left of the resort doors. This part of the deck was covered by an awning which Keith was extremely grateful for. His black shirt was basically turning into a solar panel under the sun.

“Well that’s pretty much it,” Allura said turning to them. “There are the high rises, but really they’re just like any apartment you might find around here. And, of course, you know what the villas are like.”

“For which I really can’t thank you enough, Allura. It’s beautiful down here,” Shiro said, and Keith knew that Shiro meant more than just the scenery.

Allura waved off his thanks. “Honestly, Shiro, it’s not a big deal. Like I said, the property tax brackets shifted in my favor so you are certainly paying more than your fair share for the space. And really, I should be thanking you. What you did for this company...well, let’s just say that if you hadn’t been there, there wouldn’t be a resort for you to stay at.”

“Still,” Shiro said, “thank you. The rest was much needed.”

“And very much deserved.”

The two shared a smile that Keith felt, perhaps, he wasn’t meant to see.

Allura checked her watch then and muttered a surprisingly foul curse in her delicate accent. “Sadly, I’ll have to leave you two here for now. I’m about five minutes away from being late to a conference call. Shiro, we have that lunch date this Thursday, don’t forget. And Keith, I hope I will see you around.”

Allura turned and walked back towards the resort entrance, throwing a casual wave over her shoulder.

Keith looked at his brother, who was still staring after her.

“You’re not subtle, you know,” Keith said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Subtle about what?” Shiro had the nerve to ask.

Keith rolled his eyes. “She’s very pretty, even I can see that, and I am very, very gay. Could probably step on you and you’d say thank you. Just your type.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shiro said, turning to the bar.

Keith shook his head. As much as his brother talked a big game about “confronting your feelings” and “validating your emotions,” or whatever self-care bullshit he decided he liked that day, he was surprisingly terrible at taking his own advice.

“You know, I do think I remember Allura now,” Keith said, a memory resurfacing as clear and as beautiful as the water in the pool. “You tripped over the rug and spilled red wine all over her white dress at the club that one time.”

The blood drained from Shiro’s face faster than you could say “Altea Beach Resort and Spa.”

“Nope, don’t remember, didn’t happen,” Shiro said, flagging down the bartender.

Keith chuckled, glad that after all this time, he still had dirt on Shiro high quality enough that he went straight to denial without even trying to work around it.

The bartender approached them having finished with his previous customer. He was tall and broad, with dark skin and large muscles. His figure was intimidating at first, until you saw his face. He still looked young, but most of all, he had kind eyes, the beginnings of smile lines evident at the corners and around his mouth.

“Shiro!” the bartender exclaimed in a friendly voice. “What can I do for you? The usual?”

Shiro smiled back. “Hey, Hunk! Maybe later, thanks. I just wanted to introduce you to my brother, Keith. He’s staying with me for a bit.” Shiro gestured from Keith to the bartender and vice-versa. “Keith, Hunk. Hunk, Keith.”

Keith did a reassessment of the guy in front of him. Yup, definitely a Hunk.

“Pleased to meet you, Keith,” Hunk said offering Keith his hand.

Keith took it not the least bit surprised to find that he had a firm but amiable handshake. “Yeah, you too,” he replied, trying his best not to seem as socially awkward as he felt.

Hunk gestured to the tools of trade before him. “Well, is there anything I can get for you, Keith?”

“I could really use an Old Fashioned right about now,” Keith answered honestly. “With bourbon if you’ve got it.”

“Sure thing!” Hunk got to work mixing the drink in expert fashion, grabbing bottles and ingredients with barely even looking.

Shiro shook his head. “You and your bourbon.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Still better than you and your shitty gin.”

Hunk simply chuckled and slid the finished drink over to Keith, condensation already gathering on the cold glass.

“Thanks,” Keith said, taking a much needed fortifying sip. _Perfect_. “What do I owe you?”

Shiro waved Keith’s question away. “Just put it on my tab, Hunk."

“I can pay for my own drinks, Shiro.”

“I’m more than well aware. Think of it as a thank you for making it through that tour with only minimal threats of blackmail.”

Keith snorted. “I can’t very well use all my blackmail material this early.”

“Did I just hear someone say blackmail?” came a voice to Shiro’s right.

Keith leaned around and saw a small figure in green cargo shorts and a baggy t-shirt hunched over a laptop at the far end of the bar. They had reddish orange hair that was pulled up into a messy side-pony, the strands barely contained by the hair tie, and round, metal-framed glasses covered their face from eyebrows to cheekbones. Owlish, golden-brown eyes glinted in Keith’s direction and, despite the individual’s stature, he felt a sudden fear for his life.

“Pidge, it’s not nice to blackmail people,” Hunk said, clearly not for the first time.

“But it’s so much fun,” the person - whose name was Pidge, apparently - replied. “Besides, it’s not every day I can get material on _the_ Takashi Shirogane.”

Hunk sighed, turning back to Keith. “Just ignore her, Keith. And maybe also encrypt all of your passwords.”

“I can break through those in a heartbeat, and you know it,” Pidge said, shifting her glasses in a way that reminded Keith uncomfortably of an anime character.

“Speaking of,” Shiro said, nodding towards an older couple approaching the bar.

“Katie!” the older gentleman said, brandishing a phone in his hand. “The WiFi kicked us out again just as our granddaughter’s class was about to be called across the stage. Could you help again?”

Pidge - or Katie? Keith wasn’t sure - reached out and took the phone from the man. “Oh wow,” she said. “That’s seriously bad timing. I can fix it, but I may need to reconfigure the security settings on your phone to ensure that it’s speaking properly to the wireless network. Otherwise the codes won’t match and it’ll kick you out again.”

The woman nodded vigorously waving her on. “Yes, yes, whatever you need to do. Please, we can’t miss seeing her walk!”

Pidge/Katie tilted her head over the phone, the glare from the sun completely obscuring her eyes. “Of course,” she said extremely understanding.

Keith didn’t buy it for a minute.

Pidge/Katie tapped furiously at the phone for a few moments before handing it back to the old couple, a beatific smile on her face. “There you go, that should do it.”

The man took the phone and frantically refreshed whatever video feed they had been watching. Clearly, the feed reconnected because the couple visibly sagged with relief.

“You’re a lifesaver, Katie.” The woman handed her a bill from her pocket.

Pidge/Katie waved the bill in the air as the couple returned to their chairs across the pool. “See you around, Bill! Susan!”

Keith sat in stunned silence, completely in awe of what he just witnessed. Shiro and Hunk on the other hand, had the looks of long-suffering martyrs.

“Pidge,” Shiro chastised, his ‘Dad Voice’ in full effect. “Have you been terrorizing the guests with pirated WiFi access again?”

Pidge/Katie barely looked up from her computer. “Of course not. But,” she continued, raising a single finger, “if the Cunninghams ask, the WiFi has always been spotty in their part of the condo.”

Shiro sighed. “You can’t just break the WiFi and charge people to fix it.”

“Mrs. Cunningham all but ordered Lance to bring her a drink _muy rápidamente_ yesterday.”

“Ah, I see. As you were, then,” Shiro said.

“Now,” Pidge/Katie said peeking around Shiro to peg Keith with an intense stare, “what’s this I was hearing about dirt on Shiro?”

Keith returned the gaze. “Depends,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “What are you willing to give me for it?”

Pidge/Katie’s eyes lit up at that. “Finally,” she crowed excitedly, “a challenge. Shiro, where have you been hiding this guy?”

“Away from you, which is proving to have been a smart choice,” he muttered. “Pidge, this is my brother, Keith.”

“Oh, so this is the Keith who had a picture of Gerard Way pinned above his bed.”

Keith spluttered into his drink. “Shiro! What the hell?”

Shiro winked. “You’re not the only one with some grade-A organic dirt.”

Hunk was attempting to retain his laughter but at that moment lost the battle. “Oh man!” he exclaimed. “You guys are gold. Shiro, you need to bring him more often.”

Keith couldn’t help the smile that broke on his face. He didn’t want to admit this, but Shiro was right. It was nice being around people his age again.

“So…” Keith said, stumbling awkwardly over his words. “I’m sorry to ask this, but is your name Pidge or Katie?”

Pidge/Katie just gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah, no worries, people ask all the time. My parents named me Katie, but then I decided I didn’t really feel like a girl, so my brother started calling me Pidge so I wouldn’t feel weird.”

“Oh,” Keith said, still a little confused. “So, what are your pronouns?”

Pidge smiled, this time it was a little more genuine. “She/they. Either works. But I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Pidge still.”

Keith nodded, committing it to memory. He wasn’t good with people, but this felt important to remember.

By that point, the alcohol had hit Keith, and he was really beginning to feel the heat. Particularly in his black skinny jean covered legs.

“Hey, Shiro? Mind if I go back and change quick?”

Shiro nodded, seeming to pick up on the fact that Keith was quickly on his way to a heat stroke. “Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

Keith didn’t move. “Um, Shiro? Could I have the key?”

Shiro looked unimpressed. “You didn’t see the key I left you on the counter, did you?”

“There was a key?” Keith asked sheepishly. Pidge and Hunk snickered covertly.

Shiro sighed and dug into his pocket, pulling out a keyring with a little plastic palm tree. “I expect this back the minute I see you again.”

Keith snatched the key. “Thanks, Shiro.” He got up and took a step towards the main resort entrance, but Shiro reached out and grabbed his arm.

“That way’s faster,” he said, pointing to a little gate on the south side of the pool that Keith hadn’t noticed on first glance. “The code to get back in is 0728.”

Keith nodded and headed back the other way, exiting the gate onto the paved walkway that ran between the main resort and the villas. He ascended the villa’s steps and inserted the key into the lock, the little palm tree swaying with the movement. The A/C blasted Keith in the face the moment he walked through the door, and he sighed in relief. Although, he knew that in about ten minutes he would be cold enough to wear a sweater. The constant switch from hot to cold was really beginning to mess with him.

Keith took a good look at the villa for the first time, and he cringed. It was undoubtedly a nice place, but wicker furniture? Really? At least it wasn’t that tacky white painted stuff he saw everywhere up north. Instead, it was almost...classy. He had to hand it to Allura, not everyone could pull off wicker.

The warm tones of the furniture and the hardwood floors lent the space a sense of homeliness, the lacquered finishes glowing cheerily in the afternoon light. The entire space, really, was bright and airy. The back wall was lined with large sliding glass doors that led out onto the beach-side porch, and sizeable windows dotted the resort-facing side of the villa. The only walls were those of the two bedrooms and the bathroom opposite the front door.

Keith passed the kitchen, dropping Shiro’s key on the island, where he saw that indeed, there was another key. This one had a cutesy little manatee keychain, and Keith snorted. Of fucking course.

He opened the door to the room he was staying in and beelined for his bag, pulling out the one pair of swim trunks he owned and a tank top. He changed quickly, shucking off the confining denim of his jeans happily. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses from his camera backpack, he headed back into the kitchen. He grabbed both sets of keys, threw his sneakers back on and locked up behind him.

When he returned to the side entrance he punched in the code Shiro had given him and was admitted back to the resort with a cheerful little beep.  

Keith scanned the deck and spotted Shiro’s tell-tale strip of sunscreen on his nose and made his way over. Shiro was leaning back into the shadow of his covered chair, sunglasses down and hands folded over his stomach. Keith dropped the palm tree key onto Shiro’s chest and chuckled as he startled.

“There,” Keith said, placing his hands on his hips, “I did you one better. You got it back the minute _before_ you saw me.”

“Congrats, want a medal?” Shiro asked, barely moving from his chair.

“Vacation Shiro is mean,” Keith said.

“Regular Keith is mean all the time,” Shiro returned.

Keith just shrugged and plopped down in his own chair, kicking his Converse-clad feet up.

“Keith?”

“Shiro?”

“Why are you sitting one chair away from me?”

“Because I don’t like your attitude right now.”

“If I did that every time I didn’t like your attitude--”

“We’d be in separate states. Oh wait.”

Shiro let out perhaps the longest sigh yet. “Why are you like this?”

Keith turned towards Shiro and threw him his best shit-eating grin. “I’m a product of my upbringing.”

Shiro shook his head, but Keith could see the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve created a monster,” he said in mock despair.

Keith snorted and settled back into his chair. A moment later, however, a crumpled napkin landed on his chest.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro said.

Keith turned and looked over at his brother. “Yeah?”

Shiro smiled gently and pushed up his sunglasses, the nose pads leaving little dents in his ridiculous sunscreened nose. “I’ve missed you.”

Keith looked down, a bit taken aback by the sudden declaration, but his mouth twitched a bit, hinting at the ghost of a smile. “Yeah,” he replied quietly. “You too.”

The two settled into a comfortable silence as the day wore on. Keith noticed that it became increasingly bearable outside as the sun slid across the sky, and he began to feel himself lapse into a drowsy stupor.

“Well you two look comfortable,” came an accented voice.

Keith eyes snapped open to see Allura standing off to the side, a friendly smile on her face.

“Allura!” Shiro sat up faster than Keith thought was possible. Dear god, he was helpless. “How was the conference call?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Lotor trying to buy up property around here again, and I refuse to sell. Nothing new. I just thought I’d come down and finish my rounds.”

“We won’t keep you then,” Shiro said, but Keith could hear a few notes of disappointment in his voice.

“‘Til later.” Allura raised a hand in farewell and began circling towards the back of the pool, stopping to chat with every guest on the way.

Keith watched her a bit mesmerized at the easy way with which she interacted with people. It was very akin to Shiro, actually, and he could really see how dangerous of a combination they would be together.

Allura made her way around one side of the pool and had just reached the gate down to the beach when it swung open and a tall figure climbed the steps, balancing a tray full of empty glasses and crumpled novelty umbrella. The afternoon sun momentarily cast his face in shadow, but then, he turned to greet Allura and Keith couldn’t quite bring himself to look away.

He had long limbs that should by all rights be considered lanky, but he moved with the self-assured grace of a dancer. His face, though Keith couldn’t see it clearly, hinted at strong angles and high cheekbones. Beach tousled hair framed his head in soft waves of brown and bronze skin contrasted against the starch white of his uniform polo.

Shiro cleared his throat meaningfully and Keith whipped his head around.

“What?” Keith asked.

“See something you like?” Shiro asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What, no!” Keith said, a little too quickly. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, nothing. Although, maybe you should get a new pair of sunglasses, those just slid right off your nose.”

It was at that moment that Keith noticed that the world wasn’t awash in the dark tones of tinted glass. He realized belatedly that he must have at some point pulled the glasses away from his eyes to get a better look.

 _Jesus_ , Keith thought, _keep it in your pants, Kogane_.

The guy cocked a hip out to the side and balanced the tray onto it, wedging it between his side and his arm. The combination of the pose and the sunlight gilding his figure from behind was making Keith wish he had brought his camera with him. It wasn’t just that the guy was objectively attractive - Keith’s gay little heart beating a panicked rhythm could attest to that - but there was something captivating about him that made Keith want to photograph him. He was standing still as he spoke with Allura, yet at the same time he was constantly in motion. A foot tap between these words, a hand tick between those, a shake of his shoulders with laughter. The guy literally did not stop moving for a single second.

He and Allura continued to chat for a moment, and then he gave her a wink and shot a finger gun. Allura rolled her eyes and shook her head as she walked away.

Keith felt something sour in his stomach. Oh no, he was one of _those_ people. Just another straight boy with no sense of shame. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

The guy shrugged it off and began making his way through the chairs, gathering empty glasses as he wound his way towards the bar. He stopped to pick up the empty glass beside Shiro and Keith did his utmost best to studiously avoid staring at the eyes he could now see were a deep, piercing blue.

“Hey, Muscles!” the guy exclaimed, his voice higher than Keith expected, and just a little grating. “Looking good. I’m loving the open-button look. It’s really doing wonders for your pecs.”

Shiro barely looked affected at all. “Hi, Lance.”

 _Oh_ … So this was Lance.

“How’s Elena?” Shiro continued. “Shop still doing alright?”

The guy - Lance - practically lit up at that. “Yeah!” he said. “Really well actually. Mom’s even thinking of adding another bay to the garage before next season starts.”

Shiro’s face stretched into a genuine smile. “Glad to hear it. Does she still do house calls? I need to get the Tesla a tuneup soon, and I don’t trust anyone else with my baby.”

“You know it. I’ll let her know you’ll be calling.” Lance winked lewdly at Shiro. “But hey, I do house calls too.”

Keith was processing this entire interaction with no small amount of confusion and annoyance. Of course this was the Lance everyone couldn’t shut up about. Of course he was absurdly attractive. Of course he was an incurable flirt. And of course Shiro knew his fucking mom. Any possible chance Keith had of avoiding interacting with this boy vanished along with his sanity. Keith was suddenly overwhelmed again by the urge to get the hell out of Florida.

“Oh, Lance, by the way, I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Shiro said, and Keith immediately began calculating how long it would take to go and drown himself in the pool. “This is my brother, Keith. He’s staying with me for a bit this summer. Keith, this is Lance. He’s one of Allura’s best employees, and his mom is an old friend.”

Lance turned his full attention to Keith then, giving him a once over that had Keith bristling. He gave Keith a nod and a cheeky smile. “Wow, good looks really run in the family.”

What Keith should have said was something along the lines of “Hi Lance, nice to meet you.” What actually came out of his mouth was, “Shiro and I aren’t actually brothers.”

Lance’s face fell and his eyes widened. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to assume--”

Shiro chuckled. “Don’t mind him, Lance. We’re technically cousins, but Keith’s been my adopted brother since he was little.”

There was a momentary pause where Lance looked as if he was processing this new information. Keith burrowed further into his chair, hoping that he’d astral project into a reality where he didn’t have to deal with this. Keith wasn’t sure why he was reacting so strongly to Lance. Maybe it was because Lance was open and friendly, so comfortable in his own skin--all the things Keith was bad at handling. The fact that Lance’s eyes sparkled like the ocean in the mid-afternoon sun didn’t help, either.

“Ah, gotcha. So, do I have to be, like, a level four friend to unlock the tragic backstory?” Lance asked.

Keith locked his eyes on a spot to the side of Lance, not wanting to make eye contact.

“My parents died. Shiro’s adopted me. End of story.”

Shiro made an exasperated noise. “Keith…”

Lance brushed it off. “No, it’s okay. I overstepped. I’ll leave you two to catch up, or whatever.” Lance began to walk backwards, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. “See you around, Muscles.” He glanced at Keith again and nodded once. “Mullet.”

With a wink and a finger gun, which Keith was already recognizing as a signature Lance move, Lance turned around and headed to the bar. He dropped off his tray of empty glasses and walked through the swinging door behind the counter marked STAFF ONLY.

Keith let out a long breath, urging his heart rate to go down.

“You alright there, Keith?” Shiro asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Keith tried to play it cool. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just something about that guy rubbed me the wrong way.”

“Yeah, Lance can be a bit...much, especially at first. But I can honestly say he’s one of the best people I’ve met. You should really give him a chance. He might grow on you.”

Keith turned away. He wasn’t here to make friends, especially with overly-friendly fuckboys who had no sense of boundaries. Who did that guy think he was, anyway?

“I’m going in the pool,” Keith said, suddenly hopping off his chair. He pulled off his shirt and tossed aside. God, he just needed to cool off.

Florida was proving very dangerous to his health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Not seen off-screen: Lance watching from the window in the staff door, having a panic attack when Keith takes his shirt off*


	3. Barbies and Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance can't seem to get to work on time, Hunk is a worried puppy in love, and Keith is really really gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! We got a chapter to you within our timeline! We’re very proud of this, and we hope you love it as much as we do. It ended up being longer than expected (15k oop), but we didn’t think you guys would mind. We hope to have Chp 3 to you within a few weeks, but we’re working around some temporary time differences. We actually do a vast majority of the writing together so it’s a little trickier for us right now. But it’ll be worth it, we promise! We’ve got a lot planned and we’re so so so excited.
> 
> To everyone who commented, thank you! Dani and I gush over every single comment. You guys are so kind <3
> 
> As always, a special thank you to our beta Jenna ([invisiblink](http://www.invisiblink.tumblr.com))
> 
> And a shoutout to our dear translator, Dee, who is responsible for the Spanish in this chapter. You can find them here on AO3 at [Nonbinary_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Queen) or on tumblr @[bondingrazzledazzletime](http://www.bondingrazzledazzletime.tumblr.com)
> 
> Songs for Chapter 2:  
> [Say No More by Fickle Friends](https://open.spotify.com/track/4deXCKYzMk7s3m2hlapafi?si=tdLYQeDkTj-mTbFd2V6m9g)  
> [Sunshine Riptide by Fall Out Boy](https://open.spotify.com/track/0ZqqrBHeSeyZahfcyw9N8O?si=2a_RbSoWRXyOHgEJ8e0S6w%22)

The sound of screeching seagulls had Lance slamming his hand down on top of his phone before his eyes even opened. Why in the hell he had decided that the best way to wake up was to the sound of his aviary archnemeses, he still didn’t really know. It got him up in the mornings, but at what cost?

He scooped his phone up from the bedside table and rolled over, thumbing open his alarm clock app to silence Satan’s Winged Mistresses. He resisted the temptation to roll back over and snuggle into his blankets some more. If he was late for work again, Allura would probably kill him. Well, maybe not kill, considering he was almost single-handedly running the daycare, but definitely flatten him under her designer heels.

Lance groaned loudly and reluctantly pulled himself away from his oh-so-comfortable bed, the thought of stiletto-induced wounds spurring him on. It was safe to say that he was not a morning person until properly motivated.

Once he dragged himself to the bathroom, the morning fell into its familiar routine. He was halfway through his shower when his littlest sister burst into the bathroom screaming about having to go pee.

Lance whipped his head out from behind the shower curtain. “Nessie! What have I told you about knocking?”

“It’s an emergency!” Ines replied, not looking the least bit guilty.

“That’s what you always say,” Lance said.

“Because it’s always true!”

Lance stuck a hand out, pointing at the door. “Then it’ll be just as true if you _knock_ first.”

“But-”

“Knock.”

Ines huffed and said, “I’m already here, just let me pee.”

Lance rolled his eyes but there was no way he could resist the pout forming on her face. “Alright fiiiine, geez,” he conceded. “Don’t flush though.”

Ines nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just give me some privacy.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from the girl who interrupted _my_ shower,” Lance grumbled as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Not ten seconds later, he heard the tell-tale whoosh of the toilet.

“ _INÉS MARÍA GARCÍA SANCHEZ, ¡TE VOY A MATAR!_ ” he shrieked as cold water shocked his system.

Maliciously angelic laughter filtered through the steam in the room followed swiftly by a shutting door.

Lance would walk through the flames of hell for his little sister, but there were days…

Swiftly finishing his shower, Lance wrapped himself in a towel and took out his skin-care bin from the medicine cabinet, selecting what he needed for his morning regimen. Cleanser, toner, exfoliating cotton pads, serum, and SPF-infused moisturizer. You know, just the essentials.

As always, Lance was meticulous with this part of his morning, turning this way and that in the mirror checking for any blemish, any imperfection. He wasn’t sure when this routine had become so important to him. It had started out as something fun he and Veronica used to do together when they were both still in high school, but at some point it had turned into something else entirely for Lance. He supposed he liked the semblance of control that the little bottles of product offered him, the chance to stop impending epidermal disaster in its tracks. The fact that it also left his tan skin glowing and clear didn’t hurt either.

Lance left the bathroom feeling much more awake than when he went in, moving through the doorway just in time for Luis to come blearily shuffling down the hallway.

“Hey, little man,” Lance said, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“Ugh,” Luis said, his sixteen-year-old brain not awake enough to form words of protest just yet. Instead, he attempted to bat away Lance’s hands, but Lance skirted around him and headed into his room to finish getting ready for work.

He pulled out one of his starched white polos from the closet and shrugged it on. It was high-quality material, but god awful to wear in the Florida heat. He had tried to get Allura to buy them all staff muscle tanks instead, but she said they “weren’t professional” and “were a ludicrously impractical piece of fabric in any context.” So, he was stuck with the stuffy polo.

Lance took one final look at himself in the mirror and decided he was ready for another day of rich, white monotony. He scooped up his canvas tote bag, courtesy of the back of his mother’s closet and a very expensive day at Disney, and headed to the front of the house. He dropped the bag by the door and joined his mamá in the kitchen, where she was waiting by the coffee machine looking for all the world like a devotee before an altar.

Lance stooped down a little to kiss her cheek. “Morning, Mamí.”

She reached up to affectionately pat Lance’s cheek, not taking her eyes from the steady drip into the coffee pot. “ _Buenos días_ _, mijo_.”

“Ronnie up yet?” Lance asked as he rifled through the cabinets.

“Of course not,” his mom scoffed, but there was no malice in it. “That girl won’t be up for another five hours at least.”

“Lucky her,” Lance said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

Lance’s mamá waved a hand in the air. “Eh, she deserves it. Veronica worked very hard this year.” A quiet but proud smile lit up her face and Lance couldn’t help but to smile himself. There were few in this world who could resist Elena Ramira Sanchez’s smile. She was so infectiously cheerful, so wonderfully full of love that Lance couldn’t help but to be happy around his mamá. It had earned him the title as a ‘Mama’s Boy’ from Pidge over the years, but Lance didn’t care. He would gladly take the nickname with no shame.

His mom was his best friend, his pillar, his home. She had always been there for Lance, even when he had finally told her the one thing that he was sure would drive her away, the way it had driven away his father. Instead, she had gently cupped his face, wiping away tears with her thumbs, and declared, “ _Tú eres mi hijo_ ,” more fiercely than Lance had ever heard her say anything. Lance had thought he would die right then and there from relief, but his mamá had held him up, offering him a safe place to land should he ever fall again.

Lance settled onto a stool at the kitchen counter and watched his mamá buzz around the kitchen as he munched on his cereal. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back into a low braid that swung gently between her shoulder blades as she flitted about. The early morning light filtering in through the windows highlighted old grease and oil stains on her shop overalls. Elena hummed softly as she ricocheted between the fridge and coffee pot, setting a piping hot mug before Lance with a wink.

He inhaled the fragrant steam with a groan of pure bliss. “ _Dios mío, te amo_.”

Elena chuckled, her shoulders—made strong and broad from years working under and in cars—shaking with the movement. “Hurry up and drink that or you’ll be late.”

Lance squinted at the clock on the microwave and muttered a curse, the time being later than he had thought. He scarfed down the rest of his breakfast, burning his tongue on his coffee in the process. His mamá watched on with an amused smirk, shaking her head in loving exasperation when Lance dumped his dishes in the sink with a cheeky, “ _Lo siento, Mam í_.”

Elena shooed him out of the kitchen just as Ines bounded in with the kind of energy level only ten-year-olds could have at 6:30 in the morning.

“Lance is gonna be late,” Ines sing-songed as she climbed onto a stool.

Elena propped her elbows on the counter and placed her chin in her hands. “Probably.”

Lance shoved his feet into his flip-flops and snapped up his work shoes, throwing them into his bag. “Thank you, for the resounding votes of confidence!”

Luis happened to choose that exact moment to reappear, shuffling past the front entrance and into the kitchen. “Lance,” he yawned, “you’re gonna be late.”

“Ugh, seriously?” Lance grabbed his keys off the hook by the door. “You guys are the worst.”

Elena snickered. “We love you, too, _mijo_.”

Lance scoffed but a smile played at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. _¡Chao!_ ”

A chorus of _chao_ s followed Lance out the door and into the warm embrace of the Floridian air. It was still early but already the heat was making itself apparent. Lance jumped into his baby blue Jeep Wrangler, rolling every window all the way down. He threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the neighbourhood, determined not to be late.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Lance was late.

He parked Old Blue as close as he could to the main resort and jogged into the building, his flip-flops slapping against concrete and then marble. Shay was already at the front desk, sorting papers and checking the facility calendars.

“Good morning, Lance!” she greeted him cheerily.

Lance raised a hand in response. “Hey, Shay! Allura here yet?” he stage whispered.

“Yes, she is,” came an accented voice behind him.

_Ah, shit._

Lance turned and plastered his most seductive smile on his face. “Allura, darling! Light of my life. My moon and my stars. You know, you’re looking particularly radiant this morning? Are those new heels? They look new.”

“Flattery won’t make me forget that you’re late,” Allura said, looking decidedly unamused.

Lance sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Yeah, sorry, Lulu. It won’t happen again.”

“It does a disservice to both of us if you’re dishonest, Lance.”

Lance’s stomach sank. It wasn’t that he tried to be chronically late, really. He just wasn’t a morning person. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken a job where he had to be at work by seven o’clock four days a week, but money was money. That, and Allura actually paid a living wage.

Lance hiked his shoulders up to his ears and gave Allura his best kicked puppy look. “It’s not like I’m late on purpose,” he muttered pathetically.

Allura let out a long breath. “I know, Lance,” she said, his name coming out more like _Lonce_ than anything else. Then she gave him a small smile. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Lance brightened up immediately, taking what leeway he could get. “Awww, Lulu, you do care!”

“Unfortunately. Now, get to work before I actually have to mark you down as late.”

“You’re the best, ‘Lura!” Lance said, practically skipping to the staff room, giving her a cheeky two-fingered salute on his way.

Though he was technically out of earshot, he swore he heard Allura’s gentle giggle, and his heart swelled.

Honestly, Lance _was_ lucky Allura liked him, especially after their disastrous first meeting. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks just thinking about what he and Allura had since dubbed “The Incident.” Let’s just say it involved a wildly inappropriate pick-up line, a bowl of soup, and designer heel puncture marks. It was a hell of a way to meet your boss for the first time, that was for sure. It also certainly hadn’t stopped him from crushing on her, _hard_.

Yet, despite the rejection and initial awkwardness, they pulled through and Lance now considered Allura one of the most important people in his life. Sure, part of that might be because she signed off on his paychecks, but it went way deeper than that. Allura had given Lance a chance to prove himself, to support his own dreams in his own way. Not to mention, she was always first in line to defend him if he wasn’t being treated right, either by guests or by friends. She looked out for Lance and he always tried to return the favor where he could. Taking over the daycare during the off-season had been the least he could do.

Lance punched his code into the staff room door and pushed it open, surprised when he found Pidge camped out in the beanbag he and Hunk and had smuggled in a few months back.

Pidge lifted a hand in greeting. “Sup.”

Lance glanced down at Pidge sitting cross-legged in the beanbag chair, donning an oversized shirt, cargo shorts, and a very messy bun.

"Hey Pidgeon," Lance said, considering the little ginger's appearance. "What's the flavor of the day?"

"They/them please," Pidge responded not even breaking their typing pace to adjust their glasses.

"You got it."  

Lance wished he could say he was more shocked to see Pidge in the staff room, but honestly, this was not the first time that had happened. They often found their way into the breakroom, always managing to bypass whatever fancy electric locks Allura bought. At a certain point, she had simply given up knowing all too well there was no stopping Pidge. Besides, Lance wasn’t the only one Allura had a soft spot for. Pidge was a gremlin, but a gremlin they all adored.

Lance peered over their shoulder at their computer, reaching out a finger to poke the screen. “What’re you working on?”

Pidge slapped Lance’s hand away. “Don’t touch my equipment.”

Lance pouted and held his hand to his chest. “Ow! Don’t be fucking rude.”

“Don’t be fucking obnoxious.”

“You’re mean in the morning,” Lance mumbled as he shuffled over to his locker. He entered his passcode and threw his bag in. “What’re you doing in here anyways? Hiding again?”

“No, I’m looking for aliens,” Pidge deadpanned. “Yeah, of course I’m hiding again.”

Lance hopped on one foot, pulling on his nice work shoes. “Hey, with you both of those could be true.”

Pidge looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fair point.”

“So…” Lance said, arching an eyebrow expectedly.

Pidge sighed and closed their laptop. “My parents want to go on another one of those stupid parasailing rides, and they know I don’t like heights. Or parasails.”

“Ah, I see. So you’ve abandoned Matt to deal with this on his own then?”

Pidge snorted. “You know Matt. He’ll go thinking he’s being all tough and brave, but as soon as he’s in the air he’ll be shrieking like a third grader.”

Lance could picture it exactly. “And you’re not there trying to take a video?” He shook his head sadly. “Wasted opportunity, Pidge-Podge.”

They tilted their head down steepling their fingers in front of their mouth. “Matt does ten embarrassing things on a daily basis. There will be other opportunities.”

Lance swore the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Man, it was a good thing Pidge had decided to use their powers for good most of the time, because otherwise, they’d all be in trouble. Throwing his flip-flops into the locker, Lance shut the door and reset the lock.

“Well, while you’re busy beaming up to the Enterprise or whatever, I’m going to go give rich people fancy drinks.”

“ _Buena suerte_ ,” Pidge said sardonically as Lance breezed out of the room.

Lance crossed the hallway, popping his head into the daycare before hitting the pool deck. There weren’t any kids this morning but he still liked to make sure that everything was ready to go when he needed it. The toys were all in their colorful bins and the chairs stacked neatly. Snacks were stowed high up and away from reaching hands, and Lance knew without having to check that the mini fridge was stocked with at least five different kinds of juice. Allura acted like it was a huge favor for Lance to take on the extra work during the summer months but, honestly, he really enjoyed it.

Yes, it was certainly a welcome break from waiting on bitchy rich people, but it was also a chance to help out his co-workers and their kids. Summer months were tough on the single parents, so if Lance could help them get in the hours they need while keeping his own then that was alright by him. Not mention, a lot of the kids were still learning English and Lance was one of the only Spanish-speaking staff besides some of their parents. It was definitely worth it even if little Gabriella constantly made fun of his Cuban accent.

Lance took a final look at the colorful stickers on the walls - manatees and dolphins and turtles - and ducked back into the hallway. He passed the gym, noting a few of the regular early morning enthusiasts, and stepped out onto the pool deck. A small group was assembled over by bar and Lance headed in their direction.

A bright orange head turned towards Lance, a large smile hidden under an equally as orange moustache. “Lance my boy! Good of you to join us.”

“Morning, Coran,” Lance greeted the enthusiastic manager. “Rax, Rolo,” he nodded to the others. “Where’s Hunk?”

A hand shot up from behind the bar and waved around. “Present!”

Lance leaned over the counter and peered down, spotting the bottom half of Hunk sticking out from under sink. “Whatcha doing there, buddy?”

A few thuds and metal on metal clanks rang out. “Eh, some of the washers eroded and made a leak, so I gotta take apart the p-trap pipe to replace them.”

Lance cupped his chin in a hand thoughtfully. “Uh-huh. Sure. Of course.” He looked to the others gather around the bar. “Do any of you know what he just said?”

Rax and Rolo both gave Lance equally perplexed looks but Coran, naturally, lit up.

“Well sure! Washers, bolts, p-traps, u-bends, slip nuts, lock nuts, elbows… It’s all basic plumbing, my boy.”

“I didn’t know you knew so much about all that, Coran,” Lance said.

Coran straightened out the collar of his shirt with both hands. “They didn’t used to call me Coranich for nothing.”

“What is a ‘Coranich’?” Rax asked. “Is that a type of job?”

“What? No!” Coran replied. “It’s my name, but mixed with the word mechanic. You know, like a nickname? Mechanic. Coranich. They-they’re not the same exactly, but they’re similar.”

Hunk wiggled out from under the sink then, a smirk playing at his lips. “Hey, Coranich, mind hitting the tap to see if I fixed the leak?”

Coran hummed and reached over, pulling the tap all the way on. Lance barely had time to duck before Coran got hit with a face full of water.

“Well, I’m not sure about the leak, but the water pressure’s fine,” he said, water beading off his mustache.

Lance couldn’t help it, he doubled over, peals of laughter escaping him. He really shouldn’t laugh at his direct supervisor, but seeing Hunk’s sheepish grin and Coran’s unflinchingly chipper expression almost made waking up at 5:30 worth it. Rax and Rolo were in similar states, Rax trying his best to hide his laughter behind a hand and Rolo turned to the side, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

Hunk at least had the wherewithal to look a little guilty from his position on the ground. “Oh man, sorry, Coran. I must’ve done the shut-off valves the wrong way.” He reached back under the sink and twisted something a few times. “Okay, now try.”

Coran flipped the faucet again, but leaned back away from the sink this time when he did so. Water flowed out at a normal pace and disappeared down the drain.

“Success!” Hunk shouted jumping up from the ground with surprising dexterity.

“Great job, Hunk,” Lance said, laughter still evident in his voice. “Now if the whole chef thing doesn’t work out, you’ll have a promising career in plumbing.”

Hunk beamed. “Why thank you, Lance.”

“Right then,” Coran said wiping his face off with a dish towel. “Now that we’ve sorted this hydraulic kerfuffle, we can all get back to our morning tasks. Rax, you have the north side of the pool. Lance, you’ve got the south. Hunk, obviously you’re on the bar and kitchen.”

“Who’s on beach duty?” Lance asked,

“Today Rolo gets the glorious task,” Coran replied.

Lance tried not to show his disappointment. Beach duty wasn’t an easy task - lugging chairs to the water, setting up umbrellas and awnings, running drinks back and forth from the bar - but it was probably one of Lance’s favorites.  He loved the chance to look out at the water and the walk to and from the coast was quiet, surrounded by sea oats and palms. Sometimes, he’d be able to spot dolphins out in the gulf and steal a quick a moment for himself beneath the shade. Little things like that helped to push the day forward, helped Lance not to notice as time moved a little faster.   

Coran clapped his hands once. “Now then, off you go! You’ve got thirty minutes before opening.”

Lance walked off to his side of the pool to set up the chairs they had stacked the night before. Despite all his complaining about the early start time and the lack of beach duty, Lance loved his job. He worked hard, barely pausing to complain about the already sweltering heat. It was only June, and early morning to boot, but the thing about Florida was that it was almost consistently a resting temperature of 85 degrees when the sun was down. That wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the humidity, the air itself feeling like Satan’s sweaty armpit. Growing up in Cuba and then Florida, Lance could safely say he was used to it, the humidity offering a familiar sort of comfort. The same couldn’t be said for some of the guests, however.

By the time he had finished setting up all the chairs on his side of the pool, the resort had officially opened and the first of the beach-goers started to trickle in. Lance spotted a few familiar faces, mostly locals who actually knew what they were doing. In Lance’s not-so humble opinion, they had the right idea. Tourists made the mistake of sleeping in, getting up late and trudging to the beach around 11 or so, just when the sun was on its way to downright brutal. Then again, tourists’ stupidity paid his bills, so he couldn’t complain too much.

Lance spent the rest of the morning busing between pool chairs and the bar, wiping down tables, and taking orders. It was nearing 11:30 when Rolo returned from his latest trip down to the beach, looking a bit red in the face. Lance met him over by the bar, each laying down their latest orders for Hunk to mix up.

“Hey, man,” Lance said, nudging Rolo’s shoulder, “you wanna take your hour first today? You look like you could use a break.”

Rolo quirked an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah, no worries. I’ll cover you.”

“Thanks, dude,” Rolo said, shoulders slumping in relief. “I owe you one.”

Lance waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Go get some A/C.”

Rolo gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder and headed off.

“That was nice of you,” Hunk remarked while vigorously shaking a drink together. “We’re one person short now though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Lance reached over the bar and grabbed the staff phone, punching in Coran’s extension. “Hey, Coran, quick favor to ask. I let Rolo go on his hour early since he was looking a bit worn out. Would you be able to come down and help cover the pool?”

“Well that was quite nice of you, Lance,” Coran said.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m a nice guy!”

Coran chuckled. “Not a problem. Be down in a tic.”

“Thanks, Coran,” Lance said, hanging up the receiver.

Hunk pushed a tray of drinks towards Lance. “Alright, since you’re covering for Rolo, these need to go down to the Robinsons.”

Lance shuddered. Mrs. Robinson always tried to grope his ass and slip her key in his pocket. She tipped well, though.

Lance hefted the tray up, careful not to spill any of Mrs. Robinson’s dry martini. “If I don’t come back in ten minutes send help.”

Hunk saluted. “You got it, man.”

Lance trudged his way through the sand, checking up on various guests, giving his best customer-service smiles. He managed to escape the manicured claws of Mrs. Robinson with minimal harassment, but that was probably due to the fact that her husband was sitting one chair over.

When Lance made it back to the bar, he practically slammed the tray down, slumping over.

“If I have to fend off one more bored, middle-aged white woman who thinks I’m some sleezy cabana boy…”

Hunk sighed sympathetically. “Sorry, man. I know that gets to you.”

“Yeah, it’s just part of the job, I guess,” Lance muttered.

Hunk set a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It really shouldn’t be. If it’s getting too much again, you know you can always talk to Allura.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want to bother her with something we all know isn’t going to stop.” Lance shrugged. “Besides, she’s got other stuff to worry about.”

Hunk gave him a look. “Lance…”

Lance half-turned from the bar, sensing a lecture, and he did not want to see Hunk’s pitying looks as he told him in no uncertain terms that he should be treated like a human being. Hunk was a beginning to sound like a broken record at this point. Lance caught sight of Shiro then coming through the side-gate for the villas, his younger brother in tow. Keith, he recalled. Shiro raised a hand in greeting and headed their way. Lance waved back and turned to Hunk, picking up an empty tray.

“Oh, geez are those empty glasses I see in the distance? Hold that thought, Hunk, I’ll be back.”

“You can’t avoid me forever, Lance,” Hunk called as Lance walked away.

“Watch me,” Lance said with a wink.

“I swear to god,” Hunk muttered.

Lance jogged over to Shiro, lifting a hand in greeting.

“Hey, Muscles!” he said, a genuine smile breaking over his face. “How’s my favorite beefcake this fine afternoon?”

Shiro looked especially good today. Not everyone could pull of the cheezy Jimmy Buffett look, but that physique paired with the tank top? It made Lance’s bisexual heart skip a beat.

Shiro sighed in a distinctly dad-like fashion, but Lance could see the barest hints of a smile. “Hi, Lance. I’m doing alright. How’s work treating you?”

“Oh, you know, hot as balls, got hit on by some sixty-year-old lady reading Fifty Shades of Grey. The usual. But it’s better now that you’re here.” Lance threw in some finger guns just for good measure.

Shiro rolled his eyes but there was no malice to it.

“Anyways,” Lance continued, eyeing the bag of towels in Shiro’s hand, “what’re you two up to?”

“Keith and I were just heading to the beach for a bit.”

Lance looked around Shiro’s broad shoulders to peer at Keith. He was standing a bit behind his brother with his arms crossed over his chest.

“How’s it going, Mullet? ” Lance asked.

Keith mumbled something, and Lance raised an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“I don’t have a mullet,” Keith said, louder this time.

Lance laughed. “Billy Ray Cyrus would disagree, but hey.”

“Whatever,” Keith said, casting his eyes off to the side.

“Hey man, relax. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Lance said, sensing that maybe he’d overstepped again.

“Don’t mind him,” Shiro reassured. “He’s just cranky because he got sunburnt yesterday.”

Lance not so subtly looked down at Keith’s biceps where a distinctly red line marked the shadow of a t-shirt. If Lance’s eyes dragged a bit longer over Keith’s defined muscles, well, who could blame him? The guy was prickly, but Lance’d be damned if he wasn’t easy on the eyes.

“First time in Florida?” Lance asked, not without sympathy.

Keith grunted, and Lance took that as an affirmative.

“Yeah, the sun’s brutal. Make sure you reapply often, melanoma’s no joke.”

Shiro grinned at his brother while Keith gave a glare only siblings could recognize.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Keith said, and Shiro laughed.

Lance looked between them. “Am I missing something?”

Shiro waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Brogane thing.”

“Whatever you say, dude,” Lance said, glancing towards the bar to check if Hunk had finished prepping the drinks yet.

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” Shiro said and moved towards the gate.

Lance, after seeing that Hunk wasn’t quite done with his order, turned to the brothers and smiled. “Nah, it’s all good, let me help you down. I’m on beach duty until Rolo gets back.”

He walked over and held open the gate, gesturing them through.

Shiro nodded and moved through, already heading towards where the beach chairs were stacked up.

“No no no, no you don’t,” Lance said, running over and grabbing the chairs from Shiro. “I’m taking these.”

Shiro shook his head, not letting go. “We can carry our own chairs, Lance.”

Lance gave him a hard look. “This is literally my job, let me do it.”

Shiro sighed, but Lance knew he had won. Shiro reluctantly let go, and Lance took up the chairs with practiced ease, their familiar weight pulling down on the muscles in his shoulders.

Lance faced the two. “Lead the way!”

Shiro hefted his striped beach bag and walked down the worn path. Keith, on the other hand, kind of just...stared at Lance.

“You good, Mullet?” Lance asked.

“Uh,” Keith startled. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He turned to follow Shiro and pulled his sunglasses down, cheeks red under the bright afternoon sun.

Lance trailed after the brothers and set down the chairs side-by-side when they reached the water. He flipped each chair over onto their legs, lifted the recliners to the angle he knew Shiro liked, and drew the built-in awnings up and over the backs. Once he had finished, Lance turned with a flourish and bowed in grand style.

“Ta da! No need to thank me, I get paid by the minute.”  

Shiro scrunched his brows. “I thought you were hourly.”

“Well, yeah, but technically I make twenty cents a minute if you think about.” Lance gave a wink. “I make bank, baby!”

Shiro chuckled and Lance couldn’t help but to smile in return. What could he say? He was an outgoing guy and he liked being liked. It was a trait that had certainly given him grief in the past, his innate need to please others, to be what they wanted and not what he needed, but he learned from his mistakes and moved on. Or at least he tried to.

Lance caught Keith’s eye over his sunglasses then, the other guy standing just behind Shiro while Lance had been setting up the chairs. There was something there that Lance couldn’t quite puzzle out. It wasn’t outright hate like he might have feared, and it wasn’t entirely unkind either. Nor was it uninterested, if the questioning tilt to his eyebrows was anything to go by. Honestly, Lance thought the guy looked a little conflicted, but only in that he wasn’t sure if Keith wanted to fight Lance or make a move. But, just as soon as Lance saw the look, it disappeared from Keith’s face entirely, replaced by the scowl that was quickly becoming his default in Lance’s head.

Clearing his throat, Lance rocked back onto his heels and clapped his hands in front of him. “Right, well. I’ll let you guys get comfy. Is there anything else I can grab for you?”

“If Hunk’s got any lemonade that’d be great,” Shiro said.

Lance sighed. “Shiro, one of these days you gotta stop looking so guilty for asking me to do my job.” He turned to Keith with a grin. “What about you, Sir Pouts-a-Lot?”

“Double scotch and soda.”

Shiro looked a bit taken aback. “Keith, it’s twelve thirty.”

Keith crossed his arms and looked out over the water. “Not in England it isn’t.”

“Keith we’re not in England.”

“Not with that attitude,” Keith said, plopping down in the chair.

Lance made an ugly snort as he tried not to laugh. He looked up in time to see a small smile flit across Keith’s face. Lance decided right then and there that he really wanted to see it again.

“Alright, so a lemonade in a sippy cup for Shiro, and the world’s worst liquor for Keith,” Lance said, not bothering to write down the order.

Keith crossed his arms. “At least I didn’t order tequila.”

Lance’s whole body froze up and he turned to Keith. “Excuse me? You shitting on my man Cuervo?”

For the first time in basically their entire interaction, Keith looked directly at Lance. Lance could see something smoldering behind the dark tint of his sunglasses, something like a challenge. “Cuervo is nothing more than glorified drain cleaner.”

Lance smirked. “Sounds to me like you just can’t handle it.”

Keith shrugged. “I actually like to enjoy what I drink, so…”

“Fine,” Lance said, sighing like conceding the argument was the hardest thing he had to do. “I’ll get you your sub-par liquor.”

He turned back to Shiro, who was giving Keith a strange look. “So, you still want lemonade, or?”

“Please,” Shiro said. “And I know you were joking about the sippy-cup, but honestly, could I get a lid?”

Lance laughed. “Sure thing, buddy. Let me just run the order up to Hunk.”

“Thanks, Lance,” Shiro grinned.

Lance shot the brothers a pair of fingers before turning on his heel back towards the resort. The sound of waves and gulls echoed behind him in a chorus, but Lance would’ve sworn on his _abuela’s_ arroz con leche that he heard muffled snickers and a, “Shut up, Shiro!” hissed behind him. He shook his head and continued up the path, sand shifting beneath his ridiculous work shoes.

Normally, Lance was pretty stellar at reading people, gauging their general character, how they might react to things, and, when the occasion called for it, their interest in him. But Keith...that guy remained a mystery. Yeah, he seemed to sort of run at a baseline of ‘post-emo-moody-rich-kid’, but that clearly wasn’t all that was going on. It was giving him one hell of a mental 180 trying to keep up with the guy. Did he hate Lance? Did he like Lance? Did he not give two fucks? Lance couldn’t say, but he was more than a little surprised by how badly he wanted to find out.

 

~^~^~^~

 

When Lance reached the bar, Rolo had already returned from his break and was waiting with his arms folded on the countertop, chatting idly with Hunk.

“Hey, guys,” Lance greeted them.

They both responded in kind.

“You’re looking better,” Lance commented to Rolo.

“Yeah, I managed to pass out for a little on the beanbag. The wonder of power naps, right?”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Lance,” Hunk chided, “you’re on the clock.”

“It’s a metaphorical drink, Hunk. A proverbial toasted agreement, if you will. But speaking of drinks,” Lance wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “can a Hunky bartender hook a boy up with a double-scotch and soda, and a lemonade in a travel cup?”

Rolo snorted. “Shiro?” he guessed.

“Shiro,” Lance confirmed as Hunk began mixing and pouring.

“He’s down on the beach today?” Rolo asked.

Lance nodded. “Yeah, him and his brother. Have you met him yet?”

“No, but I’ve seen him around the last few days. He’s not bad on the eyes, that one.”

Lance snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Why, is he straight?” Rolo asked.

Lance rolled his eyes. “I dunno, maybe. He’s all standoffish. You know the type, post-emo, probably still cries about My Chemical Romance breaking up.”

“You can’t be straight and cry about MCR, that’s just a fact,” Rolo said.

Lance shrugged. “You might be right, but my point still stands. He’s got a bit of a stick up his ass about something.”

Rolo picked up the tray Hunk finished filling. “Let’s just see about that.”

Lance quirked an eyebrow. “You know, I can finish this round of orders if you want. Give you a little extra time off beach duty.”

Rolo brushed him off with a wave. “Nah man, you’re good. Go take your own break. Later,” he called over a shoulder, heading for the beach.

Lance turned to Hunk. “What about Rax? Should I let him take off first?”

“It’s been pretty quiet up here since lunchtime settled in,” Hunk said. “Rax has barely had anything to do. Just go.”

“Alright,” Lance said, slapping the bar counter twice. “Ring into the staff room if it picks up again though.”

“Yeah, yeah. Will do.”

“Hunk…”

Hunk chuckled. “Just get outta here, Lance. You deserve your full break. Now shoo.”

Lance headed back into the resort, a small smile playing at his lips. Hunk was a good friend, his best friend in fact, and he was always looking out for Lance. He was always there when Lance had needed him the most, always ready to be Lance’s rock through troubling times. On record, Lance could only recall a handful of times that he had ever seen Hunk truly upset, one of those times including ten failed souffles and a severe lack of sleep. Otherwise, Hunk was just, all around, a steady guy. Someone you could depend and couldn’t help but to like.

That, and he was just one hunk of a man. It wouldn’t be false to say that Hunk was a large part of Lance’s bisexual awakening. Who could have that handsome of a friend who was literally named Hunk and not be attracted to him? Plus, Hunk was super supportive and had helped him through every crisis, whether it was the “am I actually gay?” panic, or the “am I actually straight and just want to feel special?” panic. Hunk was there through the good, the bad, and the really, really bad. Lance could safely say that not everyone in his life stuck around like that, even if he had wanted them to.

It literally took Lance years to even begin to understand just what bisexuality meant to him, and even more to be okay with it. Some part of him kind of knew that he’d always feel a little adrift, but he knew himself well enough by now to know that it wasn’t on him. Bisexual, pan, omni, whatever label he put on it, it wouldn’t be enough to encompass all of what made him Lance. He decided a long time ago that he liked beautiful people, and he liked to be liked by beautiful people.

Lance punched in the code to the staff room and headed in, secretly grateful that it was empty as he collapsed in one of the squishy chairs. He was exhausted from working out in the sun, but most of all he was exhausted from trying to puzzle Keith out. Speaking of beautiful people…

There was no denying that Lance found Keith attractive. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was that Lance couldn’t get a read on him at all. Lance didn’t do well when he wasn’t liked, and Keith immediately not wanting to talk to him was a major blow to his ego. He could have sworn he saw Keith checking him out, but the minute he had introduced himself, Keith refused to even make eye contact.

And yeah, Lance probably could have been a bit more tactful with his whole “runs in the family” comment, but it was an honest mistake. He had a well-established flirtation going with Shiro that mostly involved him complimenting the very, very attractive man, and Shiro rolling his eyes and laughing good-naturedly. At this point, Lance knew that he could come off a bit...well, strong, but most people found that charming. Eventually.

Lance shook his head.

Whatever his reasoning, he was sure there was _some_ explanation for Keith’s behavior. Lance supposed that the best he could do was apologize for whatever it was that he did to upset the guy and move on.

Besides, he learned long ago that he couldn’t fix everything.

His phone buzzed his pocket, and Lance fished it out. He took one look at the screen and snorted.

 

 **Rolo in the Deep** **[1:13pm]**

_You were right_

 

Lance typed out a response that was maybe a little too ready.

 

 **Lancelot** **[1:13pm]**

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

The rest of the day passed like any other. Lance brought drinks to wealthy white retirees, chatted with Hunk between runs, and wiped down chairs for the next guest. The only noticeable difference might have been a niggling at the back of Lance’s head in the shape of a black mullet, but Lance didn’t see him again and decided to leave it for another day.

The next morning followed the same routine as always. Lance woke up, teased his siblings, hugged his mom, and was late again. Allura scolded him, he flirted with her, and she sighed, shoo-ing him out to the pool deck knowing full well that he’d make up the time off the clock like he always did.

“Coran Coran, the gorgeous man!” Lance called out, patting Hunk on the shoulder as he moved past the bar.

“Oh, Lance!” Coran said from his spot by the stack of chairs. “Thank goodness. I’m down one person today and need all hands on deck. Oh! On deck. That was clever. Get it? Because we’re on a pool deck.”

“Sharp as always, Coran. Who’s out today?” Lance asked hopping onto a bar stool.

“It’s Shay,” Hunk answered as he frantically dried margarita glasses. “She called in this morning apparently, which is already worrying because, like, we get here so early already so I’m thinking she might have been sick all night, you know? I mean, if she was already up early enough to call in _before_ our shift she probably didn’t sleep. But if she doesn’t sleep then she’s not gonna get any better. I hope it’s not the fever. Oh my god, I bet it’s a fever. Do you think she has soup? Lance, she needs soup!”

By this point, Hunk had abandoned drying the glasses and was clinging to the collar of Lance’s shirt. Lance gently peeled Hunk’s fingers away from the fabric, holding them between his own.

“Hunk, buddy, breathe. I’m sure Shay is fine. Besides, if it was really serious Rax would have said something.”

“Alright, alright,” Hunk said, his breathing slowing down. “You’re probably right.”

“Hunk, my love, I’m always right.”

That got him to crack a smile. “That’s objectively not true.”

“That’s what you think,” Lance said.

“I’m pretty sure last week you said that aliens kidnapped the real Shiro and we were talking to his clone,” Hunk said.

“His hair was suspicious!”

“Uh huh.” Hunk went back to stacking glasses.

Lance smiled to himself. Mission accomplished. Hunk was still clearly distressed about Shay, but he was no longer going down an anxiety spiral about her potentially soupless state. Although, Lance was willing to bet his bottom dollar that as soon as Hunk hit his lunch break he would bust outta here in his hand-me-down yellow minivan to bring Shay food. Lance suppressed a sigh. He really wished those two would get on with it already.

“Right,” Coran said, calling attention to himself. “If we’re all done with the conspiracy theories and soup-related panic, then let’s get a move on, hmm? Lance, unfortunately I’ll need you to take charge of the entire pool deck today. Rax is covering for Shay at the front, and Rolo’s on the beach. It’s a lot to ask but I know you can do it.”

Lance raised a lazy two-finger salute. “Aye aye, Captain Coran.”

Coran patted Lance once on the back. “Good man. Hunk, run back-up where it’s needed when you can.”

“You got it,” Hunk said.

Coran ran a hand across the impressive swirls of his moustache. “Now, it’s a Thursday so we shouldn’t be too bad today, but if it does get crazy, ring me down. Allura’s out this afternoon, so I’ll be in the office taking care of a few things for her.”

Lance shoved up imaginary sleeves to his elbows. “No worries, Coran. We got this.”

It was an easy thing to say when the pool deck was empty and the sun hadn’t quite gotten to its death-ray zenith. However, Lance fully believed that the only reason he didn’t collapse on the spot was because it was the off-season and everyone was on island time. Without Rax to cover the other half of the deck, Lance was basically left running drinks non-stop for three hours. Overall, it wasn’t terrible, but his feet were going to hurt something fierce, and he was pretty sure he was sweating straight through his polo.

Just when everything began to settle down a bit, courtesy of the pre-lunch lull, things took a turn for the worse.

“Oh no, not him,” Lance muttered letting his tray clatter onto the bartop.

“What?” Hunk asked, barely glancing up from the Blue Hawaiian he was making.

Lance pointed to one of the chairs on the north side of the deck. “Keith!”

“Oh. You sure?”

“I’d recognize that mullet anywhere.”

Hunk placed the electric blue drink on the tray. “I don’t really get why you’re so worked up over this. He seems pretty normal to me. Just a bit, I don’t know, shy.”

Lance leaned on the bar and put his chin in his hand, hitting Hunk with his full pout. “I think he hates me or something. Yesterday he kept glaring at me, and then he tried to tell me tequila is terrible. But he also might have been flirting? Or he actually hates tequila. Or me. Possibly both.” Lance sighed and put his head down on the bartop with a _thunk_. “I can’t get a read on that guy.”

To Lance’s surprise, Hunk laughed.

“Oh man, I love it when this happens.”

“What do you mean?” Lance frowned.

“Oh, you know,” Hunk waved his hand in a loose gesture, “when you can’t figure a person out, you get all flustered and confused. It’s kind of nice, actually. You stop acting like what you think they like and get all defensive and sassy instead.”

Lance scoffed. “I do not.”

Hunk pointed directly at the pout Lance could still feel dragging at his mouth. “You do too. You’re doing it right now.”

“Whatever,” Lance mumbled, rolling his head to the side. “I can’t help it. I don’t like it when I don’t understand people like this. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

At first, Lance had thought that maybe he had made some overstepping comments or was a little too...himself. He had tried to apologize for the comments - it certainly wasn’t the first time his quick mouth had gotten him in trouble - and Shiro had made it seem like it wasn’t that big of a deal. If it was simply Lance’s personality that was bugging Keith then there was nothing he could do about that. Lance had learned long ago there was no point in trying to change to please others. What bothered him now, however, was the not knowing.

Hunk began cutting up fruit slices into fancy swirls with expert precision. “Have you tried apologizing?” he asked in a rather matronly voice.

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Lance replied. “Little good it did apparently, the guy’s still a block of ice.”

Hunk simply shrugged. “I’d say give it one more shot. I’ve only talked to him once but he seemed nice enough. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot.”

Lance groaned, throwing his head back. “Do I have to?”

“He’s Shiro’s brother, Lance. Do you really want to let this go without at least trying to get along?”

“...No.”

“Well then,” Hunk set one last glass on Lance’s already full tray. It was an Old Fashioned. “Give it another go.”

Lance pushed back from the bar with a sigh, grabbing his tray. Somehow it felt heavier than normal. “You’re the worst.”

Hunk smiled and waved him off with a towel. “Love you too!”

Lance made his way around the pool deck, dropping drinks off to guests with practiced motions and easy smiles. He managed to make the most circuitous route he could, but the last glass on his tray seemed to glint menacingly in the sun. Well, he might as well try.

He took a fortifying breath, steeling his nerves, and approached the dreaded guest.

Keith was bundled into the shaded part of one of the chairs, knees drawn up to his chest and a Stephen King book abandoned on the table. There were still bits of sunburn peppered across his face and arms, but otherwise his light skin contrasted starkly against the black of his tank top. Sunglasses were pushed up into his dark hair, pulling the front strands away from his face as he swiped at his phone. Lance was suddenly hit again with how objectively attractive the guy was, but the moment he looked up to glance at Lance’s approach it was ruined by an almost instinctual scowl.

 _Here we go_ , Lance thought.

“Hey, Keith,” he said, not even bothering with the customer service smile.

“...hi?” Keith said, squinting up at Lance with what clearly was suspicion.

Great. This was going so well already.

“So, listen, I know we didn’t exactly get off to the best start, and that I might have said some insensitive things the other day, so I just wanted to apologize. For whatever it was that I might have done to piss you off.”  

Lance grabbed the drink off his tray and placed it on the table next to him. “I even brought you your usual, on the house. It comes in peace,” he promised.

Keith looked at the drink and then looked at Lance.

“You shouldn’t apologize for things you only _think_ you’ve done,” he said, his expression darkening.

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, that’s not an apology.” Keith crossed his arms and looked out at the pool.

“Hey, man,” Lance said getting heated, “I just came over here to try and be nice and say I was sorry. If you really don’t want me around that badly just say so and I’ll steer clear.” Lance made as if to turn around and head back to the bar.

“Shit, wait, no,” Keith said, eyebrows drawing together and voice laced with exasperation. “This is coming out all wrong.”

Lance stood there, hand on his hip, and raised his eyebrow. This boy was confusing as hell, but there was no way he was letting him off the hook.

“What I meant was, you didn’t do anything wrong. I overreacted and lashed out at you, so if anything I should be apologizing to you.”

Lance blinked. Once. Twice. “Oh.” That was not what he had been expecting. “It’s, umm, it’s fine, man. I overstepped the other day, really, so no worries.”

Keith kept his eyes trained to the side of Lance, a slight pout forming on his lips. “Well, I mean, you _did_ insult my taste in liquor. That was pretty rude.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. Was this guy...messing with him now? Was that his thing? Thinking back now on the interactions between Keith and Shiro he had seen, Lance could begin to tease out the subtle veins of mischief in Keith’s words. He had just missed them before was all. Lance tilted his head to the side, calculating. Alright, if that was how he wanted to play it…

Cocking his hip out even further, Lance rested the tray between his body and arms, and rolled his eyes with great fashion. “Oh, so adopted cousin-brothers don’t get to you but the moment someone takes a shot at bourbon you’re up in arms? May I remind you that you also shat all over my liquor taste - which, I’ll have you know, is flawless.”

“Spoken like a true tequila drinker,” Keith said, and Lance could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Whatever, man. I’ve got the spirit of the Caribbean behind me. I can handle it.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was rum.”

Lance waved his hand noncommittally. “Nuances. I’m Latino, so you know. Automatic tequila tolerance.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works, but say whatever you gotta say to make yourself feel better.”

Lance took a quick look around the pool deck and decided he had another few minutes of nobody needing him. “So,” he said plopping onto the end of the chair next to Keith, “where’s your well-muscled hottie of a brother this fine afternoon?”

Keith snorted. “Shiro? He said he had a lunch thing today.”

“Huh,” Lance said, tilting his head. “Funny. Allura’s also got a lunch date.”

“That’s the one,” Keith said nonchalantly, completely unaware that he was blowing Lance’s mind.

A grin made its way across Lance’s face. “You mean Shiro finally asked her out?”

Keith shrugged. “I guess. It certainly took him long enough if he did.”

“Wait wait wait.” Lance held his hands up in a time-out gesture. “What’s ‘long enough’ for you? I’ve only known about this for about a year.”

A wicked smile played at the corners of Keith’s mouth. “Eight years.”

Lance felt his jaw drop. “No way. Nuh-uh. A guy like Shiro took _eight freaking years_ to ask someone out? I mean, it’s Allura so I can understand, but still!”

“This is Shiro we’re talking about. He probably spent the first year and a half freaking out about their two year age difference, and then decided he didn’t want to ‘risk their friendship’ or whatever,” Keith said, becoming more animated the more he talked. Lance was beginning to see what Hunk meant. Maybe Keith just needed the right topic.

Lance rolled his eyes. “That sounds like him.”

Smile lines threatened to appear around Keith’s eyes and Lance could begin to see what being this guy’s friend would be like. But just at that moment, the intrusive sound of someone clearing their throat and snapping dragged Lance out of the conversation. He looked up and saw a particularly orange looking woman shaking an empty glass menacingly from side to side. Just like that, Lance’s mood plummeted.

Lance stood, his tray dangling from his fingertips. “Duty calls, apparently,” he sighed.

Keith looked over and winced. “Yikes.”

Lance gave a little snort. “You have no idea. Anyway, I’d better get back to work before this woman decides to call me garçon again. I’m not even French!”

Keith huffed out a laugh, and Lance’s stomach did a little flip. Oh man, this boy was cute. Before he could stop, he found himself saying, “You know, if you’re ever bored, you’re more than welcome to come hang with me, Hunk, and Pidge. We’re not the most exciting group of people, but I’m sure it would beat being stuck on a pool deck for the rest of your summer. Or, however long you’ll be here,” he tacked on at the end not wanting to make assumptions again.

Keith just stared at Lance with wide eyes. “Oh...Um, are you sure? I mean, you guys just met me. I could be some psychopath for all you know.”

“Are you?” Lance asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Then we’re all good.”

Keith didn’t look entirely convinced of the offer, but Lance didn’t let that deter him.

“Besides,” Lance continued, “it’s nice to know some of the locals, get a feel for the area, you know?”

An expression passed over Keith’s face that Lance could have sworn was a grimace, but it disappeared quickly.

“Yeah, sure,” Keith said, a touch coldly.

Lance held up a placating hand. “Look, it’s up to you, man. The offer still stands. We usually bum around on Saturdays so just hit us up. Shiro has all our numbers.”

By that point, the snapping had gotten ridiculous, and Lance muttered a curse that would have had his mother slapping him upside the head.

“You should probably go,” Keith said, but Lance didn’t sense any malice.

“Yeah, probably. I’ll catch you later?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little relieved when Keith nodded.

“Yeah. See you around,” he said quietly, a small smile gracing his features.

This time, Lance couldn’t ignore the warmth that started to spread from his belly as he turned to tend to the other guests. It didn’t really matter that the woman didn’t tip him, or that she tried to report him to Coran. He’d made a new friend, or at least he hoped he did, and that was something to smile about.

Lance had never counted himself as the best at anything or the smartest - he had been friends with Hunk and Pidge far too long for that - but he could always rest assured that he’d make at least one friend wherever he went. In a way, he supposed being an extrovert was its own skill, even if it could only get you so far.

Here, at Altea, it got Lance some decent-sized tips from a retinue of regulars that kept his tuition paid. He knew he was flirty and, at times, a bit out there, but people responded to it and never seemed to mind if he was a little forward. With friends like Shiro, Lance knew he could get away with more, so he pushed the envelope a little bit. Besides, he couldn’t always safely flirt with some of the guys at the resort, even if most people were pretty accepting. This was still old town Florida, after all.

Despite the fact that he still carried a small torch for Allura, Lance really was happy for her and Shiro. Hopefully their lunch date was actually a date and not some work meeting that they were using as a thinly veiled excuse to see each other more. As much as Lance flirted with the both of them, he thought they deserved each other. He certainly trusted Shiro way more than Allura’s nasty ex. The only good thing he did was bring Allura and Shiro together.

Or at least, that’s what Lance used to think. Keith’s wicked grin and the words _eight years_ flashed through his mind and Lance couldn’t help but to smirk a little himself.

The rest of Lance’s shift passed in a blur of the usual monotony. By the time he got home later that day, his feet were killing him, he had sweat through his shirt, and he was pretty sure he was developing the waiter equivalent of tennis elbow. So, the usual.

He loved Allura and he loved working for her, he really did, but there were days where he couldn’t help but to imagine the career he truly wanted. The one he was chasing tip after tip. For now, he was relegated to the outdated stereotypes people liked to see him in at the resort. But someday, someday soon, he’d be off somewhere, researching, rescuing, and saving as much of the ocean as he could.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Friday morning began much the same as Thursday had...and Wednesday...and Tuesday: seagull alarms, a shower interrupted, grabbing breakfast and eating in his car in an attempt not to be late, blasting both his car’s radio and A/C on his way to the resort.

He made it into the lobby just before he could’ve been considered late and breezed by Allura with a quick line about how effervescent she looked. He was especially proud of himself today because not only was he on time, if only just, but he was on time with a Starbucks in hand. If that wasn’t true mastery of time then Lance didn’t know what was.

On his way to the staff room, Lance glanced towards the gym and did a double take, his iced mocha halfway to his mouth. Some dark haired hottie was walking out, wiping the sweat from his face with the bottom of his tank top, and...okay those were some _abs_ , and Lance was _not_ drooling. The guy dropped his shirt, and Lance poked himself in the nose with his straw. He should have recognized the hair right away, but sue him for being distracted by Keith’s very _very_ muscular physique. Lance called Shiro “Muscles” for a reason, but at the moment, he was wondering if he hadn’t given the nickname to the wrong brother.

Luckily, Keith hadn’t seemed to notice Lance or his inability to use a straw properly, and he walked out of the resort back towards the villas. Lance mentally shook himself and headed into the staff room to drop off his bag and restart his heart.

When he made it out to the deck, Lance breathed a sigh of relief at seeing a familiar silhouette with large hooped earrings.

“Shay! You’re alive!” Lance shouted, running up and giving her a hug.

Shay looked a little taken aback at the sudden physical contact, but she recovered quickly, returning the hug. “Miss me?”

“Probably not as much as Hunk did,” Lance said, smirking as his friend tried to duck behind the bar.

Shay gave a tinkling laugh. “He brought me homemade soup last night, isn’t that sweet?”

Lance’s grin grew, and he stared at Hunk, who was very clearly trying to look nonchalant while polishing an already spotless glass. “Oh did he?”

Luckily for Hunk, Coran chose that moment to walk out of the employee entrance.

“Right you lot,” Coran chirped. “We’ve got a busy day ahead so no time to dawdle. That bachelorette party is coming in this afternoon so we’ll have to be in top form. Shay and Rolo, you two will be on the deck today. Shay,” he gave her a pointed look, “I want you on the southside. There are fewer chairs to bus and the bar has some shade. Don’t overdo it.”

Shay flushed slightly, her dark skin taking on a rosy dusting at Coran’s fussing as she mumbled a reply.

“Lance,” Coran addressed him.

“ _Esé soy yo_ _,_ ” Lance responded with mock salute.

“You’re on the beach.”

“Yes!” Lance pumped a fist into the air.

Hunk raised a hand. “Uh, Coran, where am I today?”

Coran turned and appraised Hunk with a quirked brow. “Trying to be clever are you?”

“Maybe,” Hunk said, shifting his eyes to the side.

“Good.” Coran pat him on the shoulder from across the bar. “We’ll need it today. Alright, you’ve all got your orders. To arms!” With that, Coran scurried back to the resort, disappearing to complete whatever mysterious managerial duties he had to finish for the morning.

The morning passed quickly as Lance prepped the resort’s beach area for guests. He raked flat some of the more churned-up sand, and put out a few chairs in neat parallel rows, placing the small white tables between them. Once that was finished, Lance took a few moments to collect his thoughts before heading back up to the deck to wait for the first beach goers to arrive.

There was a steady stream of people at the resort today, but nothing out of the ordinary for a Friday in June. At least, until noon came around.

Coran had warned the staff earlier in the week that a rather sizeable bachelorette party was coming to the resort for the weekend, but you can only do so much mental preparing for a band of fifteen hyperactive bottle blondes with daddy’s credit card.

Lance had just finished his latest run of drinks down to the shore when he returned to a pool deck in chaos. Wedge sandals and bleach blonde hair crowding around the bar were the first things Lance noticed, promptly followed by about 5 small dogs in purses, and horribly out-of-trend bug-sized Gucci sunglasses. Lance repressed a sigh, but just barely. All that money and they have to waste it on a Paris Hilton-wannabe aesthetic. Such a shame.

Plastering on his best attendant smile, Lance waded through the throng of giggling women to the bar, opting to duck behind it this time to escape the Barbie convention.

“This is definitely worse than I was imagining,” Lance muttered quietly to Hunk as he unloaded glasses from his tray into the sink.

“You got that right.”

“What do you think though? Good prospects for tips or stingy rich kids?”

Hunk twisted his mouth in thought. “Hmmm. I wanna say good prospects, actually. Seems like the kind of group you could have swooning over nonsensical Spanish nothings.”

Lance sighed wistfully. “Ah, but alas, I am but a beach boy today. _Pobre de mí_ _._ ”

At that moment, two brisk claps drew Lance’s and the gaggle of Barbies’ attention away from the bar to where Allura was standing behind them, ever the image of elegance.

“Ladies,” she said brightly, “welcome to Altea Resort and Spa. We’re so glad you chose to share this special occasion with us. My name is Allura, I’m the owner. If there is anything that I can do to make your stay with us more comfortable, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

One woman stepped out from the bunch, obviously the bride-to-be if her cliche sash of honor was anything to go by. “Oh my gosh, you’re so sweet, thank you so much! This place is so gorgeous I’m sure it’ll be a perfect weekend.”

Allura smiled softly. “I’m glad to hear you think so. Again, if you need anything my staff and I are here to assist.”

“Awesome,” bride-to-be said, flashing UV-lightened teeth. “Thanks!”

Allura nodded to the group and skirted past them, presumably to complete her usual rounds of guest visits. Lance noticed, however, that she made as much of a beeline as the chairs would allow for Shay.

“Hey,” Lance said, nudging Hunk in the arm, “is Shay okay? She looks a little...worn out.”

Hunk sighed heavily. “I _told_ her she should have gone home but she wouldn’t listen to me. She already felt bad about yesterday and probably would feel even worse about leaving today. Especially considering, you know.” He pointed with his chin to the crowd of blondies.

Lance looked back to where Shay and Allura were speaking. Allura placed a hand on Shay’s shoulder and tucked her head down ever so slightly. Lance knew that look. That was the ‘I’m here to support you but you’re going to listen to what I say and not argue’ look. True to form, Shay’s shoulders slumped slightly and she nodded at whatever Allura had said. She truly was a woman none could deny.

Allura smiled kindly at Shay, patting her once on the shoulder before shooing her off towards the bar. As Shay got closer, Lance could see why Allura was sending her home. A slight sheen of sweat was glossed across Shay’s face and her eyes were a tad too droopy for another 4 hours of a shift.

Lance could tell that Hunk wanted to get out an ‘I told you so’, but he also knew that he would never say anything like that to Shay. He was too much of a softie for that.

“Allura sending you home?” he asked instead.

Shay nodded meekly, clearly not happy about it. “Yes. She said she would rather be missing me today so I can get some more rest than have me get worse and miss the entire weekend.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Lance said. “You need rest.”

“I know,” Shay sighed. “I just do not like missing out when I could be helping.”

Lance chuckled surveying the crowd of bottle-blonde hues. “There will be plenty to do this weekend, Shay. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed. “Besides, right now you’ll be helping out more by getting better.”

Shay scuffed a foot along the deck. “I suppose.”

Lance shuffled out from behind the bar and put both hands on Shay’s shoulders. “Now then, off you go. Get your viral plague away from here and go get some sleep.”

“All right, all right, I’m going.”

Lance gave her a little push and she headed for the doors, turning to wave at him and Hunk.

“I’ll text you later, okay?” Hunk called out to her.

Even from the bar, Lance could see the blush that rose in her cheeks at that. Shay nodded once, smiling softly before disappearing behind the doors.

“Oh,” Lance purred, turning around. “You’ll _text_ her later. Inch resting.”

Hunk didn’t even flinch, simply looked down with a fond expression on his face. “Shut up, Lance,” he said, but there was no heat to it.

Lance laughed, shaking his head. “You, my friend, have got it bad.”

“Who’s got what bad?” Allura asked, sidling up to the bar. “You two better not be sick as well. I cannot lose anyone else today.”

Lance waved her off. “No worries, Lulu. No one else is sick. Unless, of course, you count Hunk’s heart for Shay.”

Allura’s eyes glinted at that. “Oh that. I’ve been well aware of that ailment for a while now.”

Hunk looked like he was about to combust, and while his dark complexion hid most of his blush, his sheepish grin revealed his embarrassment. Lance caught him muttering something that sounded like, “Is nothing sacred around here?”

Allura laughed at his expression. “We only tease, Hunk. We’re happy for you is all.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, turning to Allura with a coy smile, “just like how we’re all happy for her and Shiro.”

It was Allura’s turn to flush, the tips of her ears darkening even more than her normally rich skin tone.

She cleared her throat delicately. “I haven’t the faintest clue to what you’re referring.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Lance monotoned. “How was lunch yesterday?”

Allura stared stonily ahead, the color in her cheeks deepening. “Delectable.”

“I’ll bet he was.” Lance smirked and Hunk snickered. It was hard to get a rise out of Allura but man, was it gold when they did.

“Anyways,” Allura said, straightening out her already perfectly arranged clothes. “I have a business to run and you two have jobs to do. Lance, I’ll need you to cover Shay’s section of the deck. Coran is going to take over the front and Rax will take the beach.”

Lance groaned. “Alluuurraaaa, you know the beach is my favorite. Why do you hurt me like this?”

“Because I’m out to get you,” she said gravely.

Lance’s face fell instantly.

“Kidding!” she brightened immediately. “I need our best working this party today and I know you can handle the rush.”

Lance sighed to hide a smile. It wasn’t everyday that Allura handed out praise like that. “Only for you, my queen.” He added a bow for good measure.

“Okay, you can stop with the theatrics and start with bringing these--” she handed Lance a tray full of martinis and brightly colored cocktails that seemed to appear out of nowhere-- “to those young ladies.”

Lance expertly hefted the tray, put on his best sparkling smile, and winked at Allura. “You got it, princess.”

Lance had dealt with large parties at the resort before but, despite the initial annoyance, he actually didn’t mind much the bachelorette-type groups. They were usually younger, charmed by his bilingualism rather than annoyed by it, and could actually be fun to talk to. This group was a bit more high-energy than some others in the past, but they were tipping well and ordering a lot, so Lance couldn’t really complain.

After a short while of rushing to the bar and back, Lance stole a few minutes beneath the shade of the awning while all the guests seemed momentarily sated. The sound of the side gate beeping open caught his attention and Lance spotted Keith and Shiro stepping onto the deck.

“Muscles! Mullet!” Lance shouted above the gaggle. “I’ll be with you in just a sec.”

Shiro lifted a hand in greeting. “Take your time, we’re just gonna get settled.”

Lance turned his attention back to the aforementioned gaggle. They had fallen as quiet as a group of drunk women in their 20s could, whispers and giggles replacing the intermittent “woo!”s and “yas bitch”es. Looked like they had spotted Muscles and his younger brother, Muscles Junior.

He really didn’t blame them, to be quite honest, but it was making his life a bit difficult when he tried to figure out whether Malibu Barbie ordered the Malibu Sunset, or if that was for Beach Cruiser Barbie.

“Okay, okay, ladies, you’ve discovered the best view on the beach, but you’ve gotta help a poor _chico_ out. Which one of you had the Tequila Sunrise?”

The girls seemed to snap out of it enough to make sense of the veritable army of drinks Lance had brought them. Somehow, however, there seemed to be a lone drink left on the tray that no one could claim.

Malibu Barbie giggled. “Send it to Captain America over there, would you?”

“Sorry, ladies. He’s a taken man,” Lance said, putting the drink down at their shared table anyway. At this rate, it would be gone before you could say “Sex and the City marathon.”

A chorus of disappointed white girl noises replaced the giggles, the loudest of them coming from the bride-to-be.

“Now now, nothing wrong with doing a little bit of window shopping, lord knows I do, but that’s Allura’s,” Lance said, stacking empty glasses.

Another chorus of sighs, but more accepting this time. Even they recognized Allura for the celestial goddess that she was.  

“Well, you can’t have them all,” the bride-to-be shrugged, and she outright chugged her Blue Hawaiian.

Lance blinked in surprise as she handed her glass back. He almost joined in the girls in cheering her on.

From then on, it was drink after drink, and Lance barely had time to run Shiro his lemonade (with a lid) and Keith his devil juice before being called back again and again. By the time he could breathe again, Shiro had disappeared, and Keith was left alone on the chair, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. His sunglasses were starting to slide down, and startlingly violet eyes met his. Lance wondered how he had never noticed the color before, but he realized that this was perhaps the first time Keith had actually _looked_ at him.

“‘Sup _hombre_ ,” Lance said. “Where’d your brother run off to?”

“Nap,” Keith said shortly.

“So what’s with the face then? You got something against naps?”

Keith’s brows knit together. “What face?”

“That one,” Lance said, gesturing to Keith’s scrunched visage. “You look like someone just pissed in your cheerios.”

Keith clearly tried to school his features into something more neutral. “I’m _not_ making a face.”

“My man,” Lance said, “you’re making a face.”

“Whatever,” Keith said, looking away.

“Listen, if it’s too loud, I can have Rolo set something up on the beach for you,” Lance offered, hazarding a guess at why Mr. Grumpy Gills looked like he was trying to vaporize the pool guests with his eyes.

“I’m fine here,” Keith said, the tension in his shoulders belying his words.

Lance shrugged. “Whatever you say. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Lance headed back to the bar, confused yet again on account of one mullet-headed enigma. They had seemed like they were fine yesterday after talking, and Lance was hopeful that maybe they could be friends, but now Keith was all crabby again for no apparent reason. Lance supposed it could just be who he was, but something told him that Keith wasn’t the kind of guy to get angry for no good reason. There had to be something bothering him.

Or at least, there soon would be.

When Lance made his next round through the group of women, a surprising order came through.

“Could you bring a Sex on the Beach to the moody guy over there?” Convertible Barbie asked in between giggles, her cheeks flush with the effects of alcohol.

“I can try,” Lance said, trying not to let his surprise show on his face.

He ran the order up to Hunk, who just raised an eyebrow but mixed the drink anyway. Lance shrugged, but he took the orange and peach monstrosity over to Keith.

“Alright, Pete Wentz, this is a gift from that lovely lady over there in the yellow sarong,” Lance said, presenting the tray like he was on Deal or No Deal.

Keith lowered his sunglasses. “Seriously?”

“Just kidding, it’s from Megan Fox. Yes, seriously.”

Keith turned back to the pool. “I think I’ll pass. Is there any way you could, I dunno, send it back?”

Lance shrugged, pulling the tray away. “Yeah, I suppose, if you’re really not gonna drink it.”

“I’m _really_ not gonna drink it.”

“Alrighty,” Lance said, turning on his heel. He brought the drink over to the Barbie convention instead. “Moody man sends his apologies, ladies, but he can’t accept.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Convertible Barbie pouted something fierce at that. “Damn.”

“It’s alright, Kate,” Poolside Barbie said patting her on the leg, “maybe you’re just not his type.”

One of the other girls chimed in, this one in a matching pink sarong. “Hey, can I try?”

Lance honestly didn’t think how she could think she wasn’t the exact same type as Convertible Barbie, but who was he to deny her the chance.

“Uh, sure,” Lance said. “Although, I won’t guarantee anything.”

She didn’t seem deterred in the slightest when she said, “Send him a Long Island Iced Tea.”

Lance ran back to the bar, put in the order, and approached Keith.

“Again?” Keith said, staring at the offending glass.

“Pink sarong sends her regards,” Lance said.

Keith sighed loudly and shook his head.

Lance ended up taking four more drinks to Keith before he decided to save time and bring multiple glasses at once. They were on drinks seven and eight when Lance approached with an increasingly pitying expression on his face.

“Are you fucking serious?” Keith snapped, his sunglasses falling off his nose.

Lance couldn’t help but to laugh a bit at the helpless expression on his face.

“You mean you don’t like strange women offering you free drinks?” Lance said, not even bothering to present them to Keith.

“I just...I don’t want these,” Keith said, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture reminiscent of one Takashi Shirogane. “Can you please just tell them all I’m really, really fucking gay?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “I could, but I don’t like lying.”

Keith flicked his eyes to Lance once and quickly away. “Yeah, I’m not lying.”

Lance recognized the slight hunch in his shoulders, the avoidance of eye contact. It was a familiar gesture, one that Lance had performed many times himself.

“I feel you there,” Lance said, leaning back and giving Keith a meaningful look.

Keith looked up in surprise. “You...what? But you were just flirting with all those girls!”

Lance laughed. “Watching me, were you? But yeah, I was. I’d be flirting with the guys too, if there were any cute enough.”

Keith didn’t say anything, just stared up at Lance, who gave him a cheeky wink.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you to mull over the meaning of the word ‘bisexual,’” Lance said lightly. “I’ll probably be back, let’s be honest.”

Lance walked away with his ridiculously full tray, much to the chagrin of the bachelorette Barbies.

“Sorry ladies,” he said, sidling up to them, proffering his tray, “but it might be time to call it quits.”

An impressive array of pouts and “aww”s met Lance’s words, as he set the returned drinks down on the closest table.

“Wait, wait, wait,” the bride-to-be said, enthusiasm still evident in her voice. “It’s my turn.”

Lance sighed internally, cursing his beautiful boss for making him cover the entire pool deck on his own. “Alright, one more.”

The smirk the bride-to-be shot Lance sent a shudder through him. “Send him a shot of tequila.”

It took every ounce of professionalism Lance had left not to burst out laughing on the spot. “Okay, but I really don’t think that’s going to work.”

The blonde just smirked a little more. “Just try it.”

Lance didn’t even bother hiding the sceptical look on his face as he ran the order up to Hunk.

“You’re kidding, right?” Hunk asked.

“People have got to stop asking me that today,” Lance muttered.

Hunk simply shook his head and poured out the shot, placing it on Lance’s tray along with a lime.

Lance took the tray to Keith and gave a pained smile. “I’ll try to make this the last one, okay?”

Keith just glared at the clear liquor.

“That tequila?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“Fuck it,” Keith said, and before Lance had time to react, he grabbed the little glass and knocked it back in one fluid motion. He grimaced, grabbing the lime from the napkin in Lance’s frozen grasp.

Well, that was unexpected.

Lance was vaguely aware of cheering coming from the other side of the pool, but he was too focused on the boy in front of him.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting,” Keith said, sticking the lime in the glass and handing it back.

Lance startled out of his trance. “Um, what just happened?”

Keith looked up, a mild flush evident on his face, though whether it was the sun or the tequila, Lance wasn’t sure. “Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, Lance was worrying about it, but he still had an entire pool deck to attend to. In stunned silence, he went back up to the bar and plopped the tray down in front of Hunk, who looked just as confused as he felt.

“Did he just…”

“Yup.”

“And you told him it was tequila right?”

“Yup.”

“Damn.”

“Yup.”

Lance shook his head, still staring at Keith. “I told you he was confusing.”

Hunk shrugged. “Well, be confused over there, the bridal party is trying to call you over.”

Lance looked up to see fifteen drunk girls smiling like Christmas had come early, waving like their lives depended on it.

“ _Mierda_ ,” he muttered, getting up from the barstool like he’d aged forty years.

Thirty minutes and three more shots of tequila later, the bachelorette Barbies were too plastered to keep sending things to Keith, and Keith was either very sunburnt or very, very drunk, judging by the vibrant flush across his cheeks. Either way, it was probably time for Lance to cut him off.

“Okay, Keith, this time I got you some water,” Lance said, putting the glass down next to him.

“I’m not drunk,” Keith said, pouting, and it was just about the cutest thing Lance had ever seen.

Lance huffed out a laugh. “Never said you were, buddy, but you probably should hydrate anyway.”

Keith pointedly looked in the other direction, and Lance shrugged.

“Well, it’s here if you want it,” he said, and he returned to his duties.

As afternoon turned into evening, the bachelorette party eventually cleared out, and many of the patrons left for an early dinner. Finally, quiet settled over the deck, and Lance walked around, methodically wiping down the tables and chairs.

He reached the beach chair where Keith was lounging, and upon closer inspection, Lance could see that the sunglasses had slipped off again, revealing that the boy was, indeed, fast asleep. Lance shook his shoulder gently.

Keith didn’t say anything, but he murmured in his sleep and turned over, curling in a fetal position.

Oh man, even drunk, this boy was adorable.

But he couldn’t stay here.

Lance shook his shoulder again, a little harder this time.

Keith muttered something again, and Lance barked out a laugh as he made out a “fuck off, Shiro.”

“Keith,” Lance said, “Keith, wake up. We gotta get you home.”

Keith blinked awake, his dark indigo eyes peering up at him bleary but vibrant under the early evening sun. Wow, those really were some eyes.

“Huh?”

Lance smiled. “Pool’s closing. You probably need to get back.”

“Oh,” Keith said, trying to scowl, but his knit eyebrows made him look more confused than anything else. He swung his legs over the side of the chair and stood up. Instantly, he swayed in place.

“Nope,” he said, and he fell right back down.

“Oookay” Lance said. “You are drunk.”

“ _You’re_ drunk,” Keith said, staring right at Lance with a defiant expression in his eyes.

“Alright, buddy,” Lance said, leaning down and swinging one of Keith’s arms over his shoulders and lifting him up out of the chair. “Whatever you say.”

“I do say, and ‘m _not_ drunk.”

Keith swayed in place, even with Lance’s help, and it was all Lance could do to keep from laughing.

“The four shots of Cuervo say differently,” Lance said, nudging Keith forward, walking him gently around the pool deck. He looked up at Hunk and saw amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“Stupid girls,” Keith said with as much animosity as a seven year old boy would. “Stupid tequila.”

“Hey, nobody said you had to drink it,” Lance said good-naturedly, leading Keith to the side pool gate.

“But I’m gay,” Keith said, apropo of nothing.

“And drunk. Let’s get you home.”

Lance swung the gate open. He tried to usher Keith down the stairs, but Keith dug his heels in, refusing to move. Goddamn, this boy was strong.

“No, Lance, you don’t understand,” Keith said, and Lance was so startled by the sound of his name coming out of Keith’s mouth that he turned and looked straight at him. “I am really _really_ gay.”

“I get it, Mr. Pride, you’re gay. Now can you please be gay while going down the stairs?”

Lance nudged Keith again, and this time, he moved. He nearly tumbled down the final step, but Lance grabbed his waist at the last second.

And yup, those were his abs. He was grateful no one was there to witness the flush that was undoubtedly taking over his whole face. It was Lance’s turn to mutter “I’m too gay for this shit,” before moving his hand to a less suggestive place.

“C’mon Tequila Man, you’re almost home,” he said, practically dragging him forward.

“No,” Keith said, deciding that now was a great time to nuzzle Lance’s neck, flush as he was to Lance’s side. “You smell like sweat. But, like, good sweat. Like really nice boy sweat.”

 _I do not get paid enough for this_ , Lance thought as he walked Keith down the path towards Shiro’s villa. It wasn’t enough that he had to take this very, very attractive boy home, no. He just had to be a cuddly, affectionate drunk who happened to be extremely gay. With abs.

Somehow, they made it to the side door and Lance tried the handle, blessedly finding it unlocked. He sent thanks up to whatever patron saint was in charge of taking care of drunk people that he didn’t have to go fishing in Keith’s pockets for his key. If Keith was really really gay then Lance was really really bisexual and struggling _hard_ at the moment.

With mild difficulty, Lance fumbled the door open, and Keith launched himself out of his arms to stumble over the threshold.

“Air conditioning!” Keith said delightedly, though with the drunken slur, it came out more like “air condishishonig.”

Lance shook his head. Tourists.

He followed the drunk Keith into the villa, pulling the door shut behind him. He technically wasn’t supposed to be in here, but he figured Shiro wouldn’t mind.

“Keith,” Lance called out, “we should probably get you some water.”

He rounded the corner of the kitchen and stopped short when he saw that Shiro was indeed home, sitting on the couch, staring at Keith with a bemused but concerned expression.

“Uh...hi?” Lance said, waving awkwardly.

“Lance...why is my brother drunk?” Shiro asked, and although his tone didn’t suggest that Lance was about to be murdered, Lance still figured it would be best to explain right away.

“Well, there was the bachelorette party, you see, and they kept sending Keith drinks, trying to see which one of them could get him to take one, right?”

“Right,” Shiro said, guiding Keith to the couch, where he flopped down, arms splayed. He was muttering something about being gay, and grabbed a pillow and started burying his face in it, muffling the sounds.

Lance moved into the kitchen and gestured to the cabinets. “May I?”

Shiro nodded. “Glasses are on the left.”

Lance opened the leftmost cabinet and pulled out a glass, moving to the freezer.

“Long story short,” Lance said, grabbing some ice, “Keith took four shots of tequila.”

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose and looked towards his brother. Lance smiled, remembering that exact expression on Keith’s face earlier in the day.

“Keith,” Shiro asked, with the kind of exasperation only a sibling could muster, “why on earth did you take four shots of tequila?”

Keith said something into the pillow.

“What?” Shiro asked, and Lance moved to the faucet and began filling the glass with water.

“I said,” Keith shouted, lifting his head up, “it’s just not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” Shiro prodded.

“That!” Keith said, gesturing vaguely in Lance’s direction, and Lance startled a bit. What did he do this time?  
“...Lance isn’t fair?” Shiro asked, just about as confused as Lance was.

“Yeah! He’s super hot and all tan and shit, and he wears that stupid uniform and he picks up heavy chairs all day long and I was supposed to check him out casually and he was supposed to be mean and straight,” Keith said, his rambling speech getting louder and louder as he went on, “and then he’s actually nice to me and he has a really pretty smile, and he’s not straight, Shiro! He’s got potential now, and it’s not fair.”

It took Lance a moment to realize that the faucet was still running and that water had begun to flow over the sides of the glass. He felt like his soul was leaving his body. He was having sunstroke, that’s what this was.

“Lance?” Shiro asked, and Lance blinked, rushing to turn off the faucet.

He looked up to see Shiro rubbing Keith’s back as Keith buried his face back in the pillow and groaned. Shiro looked up to meet Lance’s gaze, something like amusement sparking behind his eyes.

Lance walked over and put the water on the glass coffee table, taking a seat in one of the wicker chairs. He definitely needed a moment to process everything. Well, mostly the past five minutes.

It wasn’t so much that Lance was surprised to hear that Keith was gay, hell if anything that was the best thing he’d learned today. Rather, it was the way in which Keith had described Lance that had caught him a bit off guard. Lance had never heard anyone say anything like that about him before. Granted, it was said in the garbled, breakneck speed of the truly drunk, but still. It left Lance feeling a bit...well, warm was the only way he had to describe it. Warm and confused.

“Thanks for bringing him back,” Shiro said quietly, interrupting the thoughts spiraling through Lance’s head. “Sorry if he made you uncomfortable or anything.”

Lance waved him off. “Who, me? You know it takes a lot more than that to make me uncomfortable.”

Shiro smiled gratefully. “Really, I appreciate it. Let me at least tip you for the trouble.”

“Nuh-uh,” Lance said, shaking his head. “No can do, Muscles. It’s not a problem. Seeing a drunk Keith was tip enough.”

Keith lifted his head at his name, and Shiro laughed. He handed Keith his glass, and Keith took it in both hands, tipping it back and chugging the whole thing, much to the horror of both Shiro and Lance.

Keith stared at both of them for a moment before his face went pale.

“Uh oh,” Keith said, and he pushed off the couch and rushed to the bathroom.

“Um…” Lance said, hearing the all-too-familiar noise of drunken retching coming from the bathroom.

“I should take care of that,” Shiro said, concern flashing across his face.

Lance nodded and stood up. “Yeah, I’ll leave you to it.”

Shiro smiled gratefully, and he walked Lance out.

“Seriously, Lance,” he said once they reached the side door, “thank you.”

Lance gave a small smile. “Any time. See ya around, Shiro.”

“Bye, Lance. See you Tuesday.”

Shiro shut the door, and Lance breathed out a sigh, leaning back against the villa wall. Various emotions rolled through him, and Lance didn’t quite have the energy or inclination to sort through them at the moment. Although, despite all the confusion, the day ended with a point of clarity. It was just one that Lance decided to leave unexamined for now. He had no desire to confront the thing that felt suspiciously like real attraction—the ghost of the feeling echoed with the promise of the very real hurt that was sure to come after.

Lance ran a hand through his hair and took stock of the things he was willing to acknowledge just then. One, Keith was undoubtedly insanely gorgeous. Two, Keith was apparently “really _really_ gay.” Three, Keith thought Lance was attractive and had a nice smile. Four, Lance was feeling rather in trouble.

“Aah, fuck,” Lance breathed out quietly, letting the gulf coast breeze carry the word away.

Lance shoved off of the door and clattered down the stairs, heading back to the pool deck. One way or another, all of these things were a problem for another day. Preferably one when he wasn’t dead on his feet, and sweaty, and in desperate need of a long shower and a stiff drink.

Lance could only be grateful that tomorrow was Saturday and a day-off. He desperately felt the need to work off some steam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our beta Jenna (@[invisiblink](http://www.invisiblink.tumblr.com)) thought up an alternative Keith introduction for this chapter and we wanted to share because it’s absolute solid gold trash and we love her.
> 
> Shiro walked out of the building with his cute ass brother in tow and Lance’s little gay heart skipped a beat. Homeboy was sunburnt to hell, red as a lobster and clearly uncomfortable and Lance still thought he was handsome.  
> “Shit, that is fresh,” he whispered into his fist, a tear tracking down one cheek. “Good God Damn.” Keith stepped into the shade of the giant table umbrella nearest to him and took off his sunglasses, revealing the one place on probably his entire body that wasn’t burned, and that would heal into an impressive facial tan line. Lance wanted to laugh. Lance wanted to cry. Lance was really fucked.
> 
>  
> 
> Don’t forget to leave a comment! Tell us your favorite part, or just keysmash. We love hearing from you :)
> 
> Spanish for this chapter:  
> -INÉS MARÍA GARCÍA SANCHEZ, ¡TE VOY A MATAR! [INES MARIA GARCIA SANCHEZ, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!]  
> -Tú eres mi hijo [You are my son]  
> -Lo siento, Mamí [Sorry, Mamí]  
> -¡Chao! [Informal goodbye in Cuban Spanish]  
> -Buena suerte [Good luck]  
> -Esé soy yo [I am he]  
> -Pobre de mí [Poor me]


	4. Hydrate or DIEdrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith is Dehydrated, Lance (aka Olivia) just really loves sharks, and plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo we are absolute monsters and have written over 20k for this chapter… Oops. We’d like to say we’re sorry buuuuut we’re really not ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Also, remember that time we said we were gonna update once a month? Yeah fuck that lmao, what’s a schedule? 
> 
> Some housekeeping:  
> (This deals with the SDCC reveal/spoilers, so if that’s not your thing, skip this paragraph). In this house, we stan mlm Shiro. There’ve been a lot of conflicting reports and basically, the Voltron showrunners don’t know what consistency is. However, obviously we started this fic before this info got out, and so we’re going to adjust slightly. You’ll notice we’re not removing Shallura, but we will be talking about bi/pan Shiro, including his relationship with Adam. If that’s not your thing, no hard feelings, but we’re requesting that you keep it out of the comments. That being said, we’d already planned for the second to last chapter to be the biggest of the Shallura content. It will come up again, but it won’t be a centerpiece.
> 
> OKAY BACK TO FUN THINGS
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who’s commented! Keep them coming, Liv and I love to hear from you! 
> 
> Shout-outs to:  
> Jenna, our beautiful, talented, and glorious beta-reader. She lifts us up where we belong. ([invisiblink](http://www.invisiblink.tumblr.com))  
> and  
> Dee, our translator extraordinaire, a true Spanish-speaking wonder. You can find them on Ao3 at [Nonbinary_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Queen) or on tumblr @[bondingrazzledazzletime](http://www.bondingrazzledazzletime.tumblr.com)
> 
> Songs for Chp 3:  
> [Waves by Sleeper Agent](https://open.spotify.com/track/5whgXDGk9qpDMTZStyejg7?si=LimDEVF_SQySGBJcIUAvWg)  
> [Saturday Sun by Vance Joy](https://open.spotify.com/track/2RiBogNRfulkNf7fVbPOrJ?si=d1bNgKlQQnWrv4oVSbiN_A)

Keith came awake slowly and with the realization that he really wished he hadn’t woken up at all.

Light slanted in through the blinds and directly onto his face, causing everything to glow a bright pink behind his eyelids. Groaning, he rolled over immediately regretting the way the movement made the world feel like it shifted underneath him. His mouth was tacky, his head pounded, and he was pretty sure the sunburn on his cheeks had gotten worse. He draped an arm over his face in a feeble attempt to block out the light, but the room was drenched in the bright morning sun and it couldn’t be stopped.

_Fucking Florida._

Recognizing his defeat, Keith slowly began to rise from his place in bed, inching his way ever so carefully into a seated position. Only then did he dare crack an eye open to the full force of the bright room. A glass of water and two tiny aspirin tablets rested on the table to his left and Keith didn’t hesitate in picking both up. He knocked the pills back and sipped his water, waiting until the walls stopped tilting before trying to stand.

Keith shuffled from the bed over to where his two bags were neatly stacked in the corner. He rifled through them for his toiletries and a change of clothes before trudging out in pursuit of the bathroom.

Shiro was seated at the eat-in counter, coffee cup in hand and newspaper before him. God, who even read the newspaper anymore? Like really?

Shiro raised an eyebrow in question but Keith simply lifted a hand as he passed by, stopping him before he could say anything. Shutting the bathroom door firmly behind him, Keith slumped against it for a moment. He was never touching tequila again. He already toed the line with his bourbon, but he knew how to handle that. Tequila on the other hand...that shit was just evil.

Thoughts of the devil’s piss led Keith to memories of yesterday and brought a deeply embarrassed flush to his face. He couldn’t believe that he had taken all four of those shots but...shit, he had needed them at the time. A bright smile, loud laugh, and richly tanned skin flashed through Keith’s mind. It was one thing for Keith to acknowledge that he had a base physical attraction to Lance -- the guy was undoubtedly hot -- but that he was a genuinely nice guy on top of that? And attracted to guys? That might have been just a little too much for Keith’s gay little heart.

Pushing off from the door, Keith went about getting ready for the day, taking as long and as cold a shower as possible, trying to both soothe his lingering sunburn and get the gross feeling of hangover off of him. Once he finished, he changed into a loose pair of athletic shorts and a red tank-top, and brought his things back into the guest room, neatly tucking them back into his bag. When he stepped back out into the kitchen, Shiro was on coffee number two and a laptop had replaced the paper.

“Is it safe to speak now?” Shiro asked sardonically.

Keith side-eyed his brother. “Sparingly,” he said reaching for the coffee pot and its answers to the universe.

Shiro chuckled but there was genuine concern in his eyes. “How’re you feeling? You were pretty um...well, trashed yesterday.”

Keith flinched, a shot of guilt going right through him. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m feeling alright, but still a bit hungover.” Keith’s stomach let loose a rather impressive growl. “And hungry apparently.”

“I’m not surprised, seeing as you passed out at seven.” Shiro moved around the counter and headed for the fridge. “You go ahead and sit, I’ll make you something.”

“Thanks,” Keith said with heartfelt gratitude.

He took the seat next to where Shiro had been sitting and sipped his coffee, delighting in the deep roasted flavor. Always count on Shiro to buy the good shit.

“So,” Keith started, “when are we leaving?”

Shiro froze halfway into the fridge and slowly leaned back out. “Sorry, what?”

“Leaving,” Keith repeated. “We can’t stay here. Or at least I can’t.”

“Keith, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“I got incredibly drunk at the pool, and had to have Lance drag my dumb ass back here, during which I told him he smelled like good boy sweat.” Keith took another sip of coffee. “Ergo, leaving.”

Shiro rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“I literally yelled at him for not being straight, Shiro!”

Much to Keith’s chagrin, his brother let out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, I was there.”

“Fuck,” Keith said, dropping his head on the table with a _thunk_ that made even Shiro wince. “Just do me a favor and kill me now.”

“At least let me make you breakfast first,” Shiro said, turning to the small stove with an armful of cooking supplies. “Last meal and all that.”

Keith just grumbled and buried his face in his coffee mug. Truth be told, he was feeling rather conflicted over the whole ordeal. On the one hand, he was beyond embarrassed at having made a complete ass of himself in front of not just Lance but the others at the pool deck yesterday. On the other hand, however, he did find out that a certain pool attendant was not averse to guys. Whether or not finding that out was worth the hangover he was nursing one sip of coffee at a time had yet to be seen.

Before he could spiral further into his thoughts, Shiro set a steaming plate of eggs and toast before Keith, reminding him how incredibly hungry he was. He might’ve been more ashamed of having basically finished his food before Shiro could even sit down with his own plate, but then Keith remembered he had passed out before eating dinner last night and didn’t feel quite so bad about it. Fourteen hours without food was a bit much.

“You might want to take it easy,” Shiro cautioned.

“Whatever, Dad,” Keith said around a mouthful of eggs.

“Your manners terrify me.”

Keith looked Shiro right in the eyes and opened his mouth, revealing a mess of half-chewed eggs and toast.

Shiro hit him with a dead expression. “Wow. Really attractive. Definitely gonna win over Lance like that.”

Keith snapped his jaw shut.

Shiro merely smiled and sipped his coffee.

“Florida’s changed you,” Keith muttered with narrowed eyes.

“Maybe so,” Shiro replied cryptically.

Keith snorted and pushed back his chair, bringing his plate to the sink. As he rinsed off his dishes, Shiro continued to eat but kept stealing furtive glances at Keith.

“What?” Keith asked finally.

“So...you wanna talk about it?”

Keith sighed and shoved his plate into the dishwasher. “Do I have to? Can’t we all collectively decide that yesterday didn’t happen?”

“I’m just a bit concerned, is all. I haven’t seen you get that drunk in a while. And on tequila, no less,” Shiro said, and Keith could hear the “dad voice” coming out in full force.

Keith leaned against the counter, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yeah, well it’s not like I planned to get trashed off my ass and grope the staff.”

“You groped Lance?” Shiro asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“No, but I definitely thought about it. And there may have been some nuzzling.” Keith could feel his face heating up incrementally.

Shiro chuckled. “Yeah, you always were an affectionate drunk.”

Keith covered his face with his hands. “I just need to leave and never show my face in Arus again.”

“Or you could just apologize. I’m sure Lance will understand,” Shiro said.

“I don’t know, Shiro.”

“Come on. In all the interactions you’ve had with him, do you really think Lance is the kind of guy to hold something like that over your head?”

Keith wavered in the face of Shiro’s infuriatingly reasonable logic. “...No.”

Shiro shrugged. “Then just give it a shot. Lance is a good guy. Really.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Keith could see the truth of Shiro’s words. He hadn’t known Lance long, but looking back, even as he was dragging a drunk Keith back to the villa, Lance hadn’t once said anything to make him feel judged. In fact, most of the humiliation Keith felt was because of his own relentless, tequila-fueled word vomit. He supposed Shiro was right, and he should at least try. Besides, he didn’t like the lingering feeling of guilt at being beholden to another person.

“Alright, well, I better get going,” Shiro said, bringing his own dish to the sink.

Keith furrowed his brows. “Where are you off to?”

Shiro smiled. “Laser tag with Matt.”

“Seriously?”

Shiro patted him on the shoulder. “Keeps me young.”

“Shiro, you’re twenty-eight.”

“Technically, I’m seven,” Shiro said with a grin that made Keith want to shove him in the pool.

“We are not starting this again,” Keith declared with a menacing finger. “Just go and shoot things with fake guns.”

Shiro moved to the front door. “I’ll see you later today. You good to find your own lunch?”

Keith crossed his arms. “I’m a big kid, I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Shiro gave a final wave and grabbed his keys off the hook. “Bye, Keith.”

“Bye, Shiro.”

The door shut and the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the overworked air conditioner.

Keith let out a breath. Despite all of Keith’s deflecting, Shiro was right. He needed to go apologize. He couldn’t stay trapped in the villa all day, nor could he just run away without clearing the air. But then again, he was also becoming increasingly stir-crazy just sitting next to a pool practically doing nothing. He itched to move, to get out and burn off some of the restlessness he could feel pooling just beneath his skin. He had tried to adopt Shiro’s vacation mindset, but that just wasn’t Keith. Even now, he ached for the feel of the shutter release clicking beneath his finger, the heft of his camera in his hands, the sense of focus he could only achieve through a viewfinder.

Keith pushed off from where he was leaning on the counter, moving out of the kitchen and into the guest room. He knelt next to his small collection of bags, sliding his equipment case close and pulling out the smaller of his two camera bags. The compact, dark grey backpack was one of Keith’s favorites, able to hold two DSLR bodies and three lenses. He took only his standard D500 with him, attaching the 50mm lens to start with, and packing an 80-200 just in case. Shiro had bragged about the landscapes so Keith was hoping to get some good wide-angle shots, but the zoom lens would surely come in handy, too.

Satisfied with his choices, Keith zipped the bag closed and hefted it onto his back. He neatly tucked his equipment case back into the corner with the rest of his things, and headed out, grabbing his keys and sunglasses on the way.

The full force of the sun was brutal and Keith immediately threw on his sunglasses. He missed clouds. And rain. And liveable temperatures.

Jaunting down the steps, Keith approached the villa entrance to the pool, punching in the code. _0728_. The combination of numbers not only reminded Keith that had he managed to lose track of time thoroughly enough that he didn’t know what day it even was, but also that July must be fast approaching. Keith wondered where he’d be when that date finally rolled around, imagining any number of other places he’d thought of going to next. Maybe Maine. Maine was nice this time of year.

Keith pushed open the gate and scanned the deck area in search of an increasingly familiar mop of tousled brown hair, or blindingly bright smile. Nothing. He peeked over at the bar but also found it devoid of any familiar figures. Keith remembered that Lance sometimes worked down on the beach so he decided to try there, but there was no sign of the energetic attendant. In a moment of social panic, Keith worried that his ridiculous behavior had caused Lance to quit or something.

When he did finally find someone recognizable in the resort’s starched white polo, however, he reigned in his panic-fueled daydreams.

“Hey, um, Rob, right?”

The man stopped and turned, having just started picking up a empty glasses from one of the tables. He smiled professionally, but Keith thought he also looked a bit on guard.

“It’s Rolo, actually,” he said, and Keith felt guilt claw up his throat.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I--”

“No worries, man, I get that a lot,” Rolo said, smiling pleasantly. “It’s not a common name.

Keith tried not to visibly sag in relief. He was never very good at faces...or names. Or people in general.

“Did you want me to set you up a chair?” Rolo asked after what Keith realized was an awkward silence.

“Um, n-no thanks,” Keith said. Dear god, what was wrong with him? He was stumbling over every word. He hadn’t even seen Lance yet to apologize and it already felt like every bone in his body was ready to combust with embarrassment. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d seen Lance?”

Rolo looked up from where he was stacking glasses, giving Keith an odd look.

“Well, you’re kind of S-O-L there, my dude. He doesn’t work weekends or Mondays.”

“Oh,” Keith said, relief and disappointment both swirling in his mind.

To Keith’s dismay, Rolo gave a laugh. “Believe me, you’re not the first person to ask. He’s in high demand around here. But don’t worry, you can get back to ogling in peace on Tuesday.” Rolo gave a wink.

Keith was surprised his face didn’t catch fire with how much it was burning. “That’s not why--”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Rolo said, lifting his tray and trekking back to the resort.

“But--” Keith called out, but Rolo had moved out of earshot, just lifting a hand in a lazy wave. “Ah, shit.”

Great, now the entire staff must’ve thought Keith was just some entitled rich kid here to gawk at the cute pool boy.

Keith shook his head and took off down the northside of the beach, ignoring the tiny part of him that was disappointed. So he’d have to wait until Tuesday to apologize. Not a huge deal. Except that it brought to mind how much time Keith had between now and then to fill so he didn’t go crazy. With his track record, that he had already been here for almost a week was a small miracle in and of itself. He was trying. He really was, for Shiro’s sake if nothing else.

Sighing, Keith slipped his backpack off his shoulders and set it gently on the sand. He took out the camera body, twisted on his wide-angle lens, and let everything outside of the viewfinder melt away.

Now, about those landscapes.

Keith shoved his sunglasses up into his hair, squinting almost immediately as the bright sun reflected off the powder white sand. It was beautiful alright, if you could manage to actually see. He peered through the viewfinder and swung out towards the gulf, hoping to catch the glint of morning sun on the gentle waves.

He fiddled with the settings, breathing easily for the first time in a week, the small motions comfortingly familiar. Just as he pressed down on the shutter release, however, a large family crossed in front of him.

Keith bit back a curse and looked down at his ruined shot. Instead of the budding whitecaps and distant boats on the tranquil water, he had a blurry mess of beach umbrellas, unflattering bikinis, and children wrapped in faded Moana towels.

Suddenly, the world fell back into sharp, unpleasant focus, and all the background noise of tourists and seagulls crashed into Keith’s ears with tortuous cacophony. The view was no longer serene and beautiful, and all Keith could see were various tents, lopsided umbrellas with brand names, and old people who definitely had skin damage.

It’s not that Keith didn’t like taking photos of people, most of his freelance work involved portraiture of some kind. But when he was taking photos for himself, for his own portfolio and pleasure, he much preferred the peacefulness that still lifes and landscapes offered. Devoid of any people, of any complications, Keith could rely on what was directly in front of him remaining as it was.

Frustrated, Keith decided that he’d best set off further, away from the resorts. Hopefully, he’d find some opportunity to take pictures of the water when it wasn’t dotted with mediocre swimmers bobbing in the waves.

Keith shucked off his flip-flops, clipping them to his backpack with a spare carabiner, and trekked down the beach stopping whenever something caught his eye and his interest. Yet, without fail, someone would step into the field of focus just as he took the shot. After about ten instances of this, Keith resigned himself to switching lenses. Clearly, wide-angle shots were just not possible on crowded beaches.

With his zoom lens, he had a little better luck, focusing on a single seagull on top of the lifeguard stand, or capturing light filtering between stalks of sea oats. They weren’t the shots Keith had originally been interested in getting, but they were still good and they gave him the outlet he had been craving for the past week.

He had been trying to follow Shiro’s lead and adopt the whole “vacation mindset.” He had even grabbed a book from the shelf in the villa in an attempt to unwind. However, sitting still around a pool deck for hours on end was never really Keith’s idea of fun. Maybe that was part of the reason he decided to drink all that tequila yesterday. He was bored and irritated, and watching Lance smile that fake smile had made his stomach churn unpleasantly. He supposed all of that -- his restlessness, Lance’s artificial niceness, the incessant drink parade -- had just finally gotten to him. At the very least, it had made a shot of tequila look good. Well, four shots of tequila.

Shiro had been right. It was rather out of character for Keith to get that drunk, but something had snapped when Lance approached with that shot glass. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to explore what that something was, but at the moment it didn’t quite matter.

And to be honest, the more time that passed, the less embarrassed Keith felt about the whole thing. He was never one to hide his feelings, and for better or for worse, they were out in the open. Well, _feelings_ might be too strong a word to describe what was going on, but still. Was he going to gush to just anyone about his emotions? No. Would he be honest if someone asked? Yes.

He thought the beach attendant was attractive -- sue him. So did a lot of other people, apparently. At least he’d have a couple of days to recover before seeing him again.

Keith continued to walk, taking photos every now and then, but really just enjoying the act of movement after being so sedentary. The sun was brutal and the air was thick, but he was breathing easy, he had his camera in his hand, strap wrapped securely around his arm, and his muscles burned pleasantly with the effort it took to trek through the sand.

At a certain point, Keith noticed his throat was dry and that the sun had shifted across the sky quite a bit since he had started out. Turning back towards the direction he came from, Keith realized he couldn’t see any of Altea’s buildings, or the any of the resorts that were next to it either.

How far had he walked? It was hard to tell, given that the expanse of sand all looked the same and there were no convenient landmarks basically anywhere. And the burning in his calves told him nothing, given that the sand was maliciously soft and incredibly hard to walk through.

Keith pulled his sunglasses back down and peered around. Hopefully there was a resort or something nearby where he could actually get some water. He’d once again vastly underestimated how deadly a combo the heat and humidity was, and being hungover certainly didn’t help.

He walked a bit further until he picked up on the sound of whistles and cheering. Further up the beach, closer to the public parking lot, Keith could make out what looked like volleyball courts and a boardwalk of sorts. I looked like some kind of tournament was going on, but even through all that chaos, Keith could see the sign for a snack shack behind them. Salvation.

Picking up his pace a little, Keith bee-lined for the snack shack, the need for water outweighing everything else. In hindsight, setting out into the Floridian afternoon without any water wasn’t Keith’s finest moment. But then again, he had seemed to run out of fine moments the instant he crossed the state line.

Water bought, Keith upturned the bottle and all but chugged it in one go. The snack shack employee looked on with concerned confusion but Keith ignored them, turning back towards the games.

Keith counted a total of six courts, all of which were currently occupied by four players, two on either side of each net. People milled around the different courts with beach chairs and coolers, watching the games and cheering on the players. Keith didn’t know much about volleyball -- he didn’t know much about any sport really -- but he was dehydrated and his legs were still wobbly from his trek through the sand, so he figured it wouldn’t be the worst place to sit and rest before he started the long walk back to Altea.

Despite his lack of knowledge on the subject, Keith could tell that the teams playing were good. Really good. Players were jumping and diving like professionals, making dramatic saves and rather impressive spikes.

A few courts had just finished up their games, players shaking hands and fans clapping, but one court in particular was causing something of a raucous, the yells from the sidelines especially animated.

Keith angled his head to get a better look and nearly fell off of the picnic bench he was sitting on. No way. No _fucking_ way.

He shaded his hand over his eyes to block out the sun glare that must’ve been causing the hallucinations, but nope. There was Lance, jumping into the air right arm back, left arm straight out, and legs bent like the goddamn Olympic volleyball symbol.

The universe was out to get him. That was clearly the only explanation for why he managed to wander into the one place on this whole godforsaken island with a sweaty, golden, athletic Lance.

Once he spotted the offending individual, Keith couldn’t look anywhere else. But then again, it wasn’t like he wanted to anyway. This was the first time Keith had seen Lance out of his work uniform, and while he made the white polo look incredibly flattering, the loose, neon orange tank top and oh-so short athletic shorts showed off a muscle tone and expanse of smooth, tan skin that had Keith practically drooling. Yeah, he knew Lance must’ve been fit, and lord knew he had checked out those arms enough, but seeing them in all their glory, tensed and fluid at the same time, was too much for his poor gay heart.

Honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to regret hanging off Lance yesterday.

Part of him had felt a little bad, ogling a guy who was just doing his job, but the other part of him, the really fucking gay part, didn’t mind in the slightest. He wouldn’t do what he did yesterday again, as that would just make him a trashcan of a human being, but he couldn’t help being attracted to the guy. He had eyes, after all.

The entire time he had been staring at Lance -- who was now breathing heavily, but looked intensely focused as his game went on -- Keith failed to notice someone pulling up behind him. A small hand waved in front of his face, and Keith nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Earth to Keith,” came a slightly exasperated voice.

Keith looked over and saw Pidge, dressed in shorts and a loose baby blue tee. And then he saw the golf cart.

“...Pidge?”

“Oh he awakens!” they said, sitting back in the golf cart. “I was wondering when you were going to snap out of your Lance Trance.”

“My Lance...hold on, wait. First up, that’s not what’s going on here, and second, why are you in a golf cart?” Keith asked.

Pidge gestured airily to the cart in question. “What, Rover? He’s my ride.” They patted the steering wheel affectionately.

Keith raised an eyebrow, taking in the green vehicle. It was definitely a golf cart, but one that Pidge appeared to have...modified. The normally blank front panel had been removed and replaced with one full of screens and different knobs, not unlike most cars. Speakers had been installed under the seats and, if Keith wasn’t mistaken, the back, usually reserved for golf clubs, had essentially been turned into a storage trunk/cooler.

“Is that thing even legal?”

Pidge merely tilted their head. “I put beach safe tires on it.”

“That’s not--you know what? Nevermind.”

Pidge grinned wickedly. “Anyways, I got something for you.” They turned to rifle in a front compartment that also turned out to be a cooler of sorts and tossed Keith a gatorade.

Keith caught the cold bottle and looked at Pidge in confusion.

They jerked a not-so-subtle chin in the direction of the courts. “You were lookin’ a bit thirsty there.”

Suddenly, despite the heat and his lingering dehydration, Keith really didn’t want to drink the gatorade.

Keith gave Pidge a hard look.

“There was drool,” they said with a shrug.

“Was not,” Keith said, and he turned away and wiped surreptitiously at his mouth anyway just to be sure.

Pidge let out a rather sizeable laugh for someone so small and Keith couldn’t help the small tick at the corner of his mouth.

“Ha ha,” he monotoned.

Pidge wiped at the corners of their eyes in great fashion. “Aw, I’m just teasing. So what brought you all the way down here? You’re a bit of a ways away from Kansas, Dorothy.”

Keith held up his camera which he had set down beside him. “I was trying to get some new shots for my portfolio.”

Pidge’s eyes lit up when they alighted on the piece of tech. “Ho ho. What have we here?”

“It’s just a digital camera.”

“Keith. Buddy. My man. Gimme the specs.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “The specs?”

“Yeah.” Pidge adjusted their glasses at the corner. “Talk dirty to me.”

Keith tilted his head slightly, chin tipping back in calculation. “It’s a Nikon D500, 22 megapixels with a max shutter speed of one-eight thousandths of a second, and a low ISO range of fifty-one-thousand-two-hundred.”

Pidge whistled. “Damn, that’s nice. What kinda f-stops do you have on your lenses?”

Keith was slightly taken aback that someone actually spoke photography. Most people’s interest ran out before Keith could even begin to explain what a shutter speed was, but with what he knew of Pidge and their tech savviness, he wasn’t entirely shocked by their informed question.

The two chatted amiably about cameras and Keith let Pidge fiddle with the settings on their own. They snapped a few photos with different options selected, listening intently to Keith as he explained how their choices affected the resulting image.

 Keith found speaking with Pidge quite nice, actually. They were easy to talk to, despite their gremlin-like tendencies for mischief, and showed a genuine interest in Keith’s photography. It almost made Keith forget where he was. That is, until a certain voice cut into the conversation.

“Pidgeridoo! You actually—Mullet?” Lance stopped short when he recognized Keith. “What are you doing here?”

Lance stood before Keith, hands placed on his hips and his head tilted in question. Keith could see the beads of sweat still clinging to Lance’s skin and the patches of sand that dotted his legs and arms. His really toned legs and arms. Keith wondered if the sun had just gotten hotter.

“It was sort of an accident,” Keith said looking away. “I was out taking photos and kind of just wandered into this place.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “You wandered all the way down here?”

“I just said that didn’t I?”

“All four miles?”

“It’s only four miles? It felt longer than that.”

“Only—,” Lance narrowed his eyes. “You’re an odd one you know that?”

Keith just shrugged. “Shiro might agree with you there.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth ticked up and he looked as if he was about to say something else when an incredibly tall girl jogged up to the group, her sport bikini the same loud orange as Lance’s tank-top.

“Lance!” she said excitedly. “I just checked the boards and as long we win the next match we’re into the champions pool!”

Lance snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and offered up a hand for a high-five. “Oh, hell yes! We are so gonna place this time, I can feel it.”

The girl leaned into Lance’s side with an easy familiarity that made Keith’s chest a little tight. “Hey, if you keep serving like last match we could maybe even win this thing.”

Lance batted his eyelashes, ducking his chin. “Only if you keep blocking those spikes like the Glamazon you are.”

The two laughed and Keith felt incredibly lost, looking to Pidge for answers. They merely shrugged.

“Just ignore them, Keith,” Pidge said. “Once they get going there’s no stopping them.”

The girl straightened then and Keith realized just how much taller she was than Lance, standing at least three inches above his head.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized, sounding genuinely concerned. “Didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Nyma.”

Lance started at that, clearly dropping back into the present. “Right! My bad. Nyma this is Keith, Shiro’s little brother. Keith this is my friend and extremely talented beach partner, Nyma.”

Extremely talented...beach partner? Was that a euphemism? And why the hell did Keith care if it was?

Mentally shaking himself from that line of thought, Keith attempted to look less like a fish out of water and actually engage in normal human interaction. He probably should have said something along the lines of “Hello, Nyma. Nice to meet you.”

Of course, what came out instead was, “Hi. You’re tall.”

Lance and Nyma both adopted blank faces of mild shock before Lance lost it completely, doubling over in laughter. Nyma managed to contain herself a bit better, merely giggling daintily.

“Shit,” Keith said. “Sorry. It’s nice to meet you, Nyma.”

Nyma smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I get that a lot. Sort of comes with the volleyball territory.”

“Speaking of, you guys looked amazing out there!” Pidge said enthusiastically from their perch on the golf cart.

Keith nodded in agreement, though he could really only speak to Lance’s skill, not even having noticed that Nyma was on the court with him.

Oh. Beach partner. Beach volleyball. Keith was an idiot.

By that point, Lance had finally managed to get a hold of himself, though his eyes still held traces of tears. He slung a casual arm around Nyma’s shoulders and wiped at his face.

“Oh man,” he said, “I needed that. You’re hilarious when you wanna be, Mullet, you know that?”

“I try,” Keith deadpanned, brushing past his embarrassment as best he could.

“So when’s the next match?” Pidge asked. “I got here a little late so didn’t catch much of this morning.”

Lance brushed their concern away with a lazy hand. “No worries, Pidgeotto. It was just pool play earlier.”

“Yeah,” Nyma chimed in wrapping a reciprocating arm around Lance, “the good stuff will be the playoffs later, anyways.”

Pool play? Keith felt like he had just landed in a foreign country where he knew only half the language. Play-offs, he got, but they were at the beach. What the hell was pool play?

Lance seemed to notice Keith’s confused distress and deciding to take mercy on him. “Have you ever been to a volleyball tournament?” he asked.

“Can’t say that I have,” Keith said, relaxing a bit.

“Well, lucky for you, you get to witness the gloriousness that is this dream team,” Lance said, grinning widely and gesturing between him and Nyma. “Be warned, we might ruin volleyball for you.”

Nyma rolled her eyes but there was affection in the gesture. “Anyways, pool-play and play-offs are the two phases of a tournament. You play in randomized pools of 4 in the morning and then the top 8 teams move on to the play-offs for the afternoon.” She bumped hips lightly with Lance next to her. “If this lazy lump pulls through for one more game then we move on to the next round.”

Lance slapped an offended hand to his chest. “Excuse you? What happened to all that praise about my beautiful, flawless serving earlier?”

“Your ego could use some checking, darling,” Nyma said.

A sharp whistle blew twice and Lance and Nyma both turned.

“Ah,” Lance said, “that’s our cue to go.” He intertwined his fingers and stretched his arms above his head. Keith’s eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head when he saw an enticing strip of bronze skin as the tank top lifted up.

He and Nyma turned to head back to the courts, Nyma tossing a “Wish us luck!” over her shoulder.

“Good luck!” Pidge called after them.

“Yeah, good luck,” Keith echoed, softer.

Keith was still standing there with a stunned look on his face, staring after Lance and his volleyball partner, when Pidge gave a laugh and tossed him another gatorade.

“Looks like you’re gonna need this.”

Keith threw them an unimpressed look.

“So,” Pidge continued sliding Keith a look from the corner of their eye. “Are you gonna ask?”

“Ask what?”

“About Lance and Nyma.”

Keith shrugged and looked the other direction. “Why would I care about that?”

Pidge wheeled the golf cart to the other side of the table and caught Keith’s eye, raising one eyebrow.

Keith pouted and looked down. “Well, it’s not like I’m _entirely_ disinterested.”

Pidge snorted. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

“I’ll tell you if you give me some dirt on Shiro.”

“Deal,” he said without hesitation.

“Alright,” Pidge said settling further into their seat, “this goes back about six years or so. Short version: Lance tried to make a move, Nyma didn’t go for it, and somehow they stayed friends.”

“And the long version?” Keith asked, curious and oddly relieved.

“The long version is, Lance tried to hit on Nyma, he ended up handcuffed to a tree, and somehow they stayed friends.”

Keith frowned. “The long version was exactly the same length as the short version, I just have more questions now.”

Pidge shrugged. “Honestly, I wasn’t there. Hunk would know more, he and Lance have been best friends since middle school. That’s just what I’ve picked up in the last five years.” Pidge crossed their arms, kicking their feet up onto the dash. “From what I can tell, there aren’t any hard feelings. Lance never really lets stuff like that get to him.”

“I see,” Keith said quietly, something inside him not really believing them on that.

“Plus,” Pidge continued, “Nyma always says that Lance is one of the only guys good enough here for her to play beach with. She plays for UCLA during the school year so she’s a bit picky when it comes to partners.”

Keith turned towards the courts then, catching the end of rather impressive spike by Nyma. He could see why she might be choosy, the girl was good.

“Is this tournament a big deal or something?” Keith asked. He’d never really heard of any famous beach volleyball being played in Arus, but it wasn’t exactly like he was an expert.

“I mean, I guess?” Pidge said, fiddling with some buttons on their golf cart. “Teams came in from all over the surrounding area, or at least that’s what Lance had said. And I think the winner gets money or something.”

Keith hummed, squinting back out at the courts.

“Alright.” Pidge’s feet slammed back down onto the cart’s floor, drawing Keith’s attention. “I told you what I know. Now. Pay up.”

Keith tilted his head, considering what would be an equal trade for Pidge’s information. “Shiro has the spice tolerance of a fourteen-year-old white girl.”

Pidge’s grin turned feral. “Oh, excellent.” They whipped out their phone and began typing at a worryingly fast tempo.

Keith sent a silent apology to future Shiro -- seriously, Pidge was downright frightening sometimes -- and turned back to the courts. The matches were in full swing again, and Keith found that he couldn’t take his eyes away for even a second. The pace of play was lightning fast, players having to react almost immediately to whatever the opposing team threw at them. Sand sprayed everywhere, catching the bright sun in shining particles.

Though he might have been biased, Keith thought Lance and Nyma were especially good. They worked well as a team, calling out spots to aim for, each one anticipating the movement of the other in near perfect harmony. Not to mention, they were both just really really skilled. Keith knew next to nothing about the sport, but he had no trouble believing Nyma played for a big school like UCLA. He did have trouble, however, believing that Lance _didn’t_. To say that he was good was an understatement. The guy was downright amazing. The force with which he hit the ball was not only impressive, it was also sort of intimidating. Not to mention hot. Really hot. Had Keith mentioned he was super gay?

Keith reached out and grabbed one of the gatorades Pidge had tossed him, screwing off the cap in one twist. Pidge chuckled from their perch in the cart.

A few games began to wrap up and Keith noticed that each winning team had a final score of 21. He glanced at the scoreboard for Lance and Nyma’s court. 17 to 20. They only needed one more point.

Lance stood just behind the court line, twirling the ball between his hands. Nyma placed a hand behind her back with two fingers pointed down. Lance nodded and held the ball out straight in his left arm.

Even knowing next to nothing, Keith felt the tension in the air, and he held his breath.

Lance tossed the ball and jumped, his feet beating a blink-and-you’ll-miss it pattern in the sand. Keith swore he saw everything in slow motion--the sun glinting behind as Lance drew his arms up and back, following through in a cobra-quick swing with his right arm.

Keith could hear the smack of the ball from where he was sitting, and he sensed, much like he could sense the perfect shot before even clicking the shutter release, that this was the winning shot.

The ball sailed through the air, spinning fast, before curving down dramatically just after it passed the net. The opposing team was fast, but Lance’s serve was faster, and the ball smacked down in a satisfying spray of sand.

There was a brief moment of quiet. The ref’s whistle blew and the beach erupted into cheers.

Keith clapped appreciatively, and Pidge whistled.

“Oh man, did I miss something?” came a voice from behind them, and Keith and Pidge turned around.

Hunk ran up behind them, panting a little.

“Yeah, Lance and Nyma just won their match on a serve,” Pidge said, grinning.

“Did Lance do that jumpy one?” Hunk asked.

“Yup.”

“Damn! I miss it every time,” Hunk lamented.

“Don’t worry,” Pidge said, patting the big guy’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll pull some more out this afternoon.”

Hunk brightened. “Oh, so they made it into playoffs then?”

“Nyma said if they won this game they would,” Keith chimed in.

Hunk did a slight double-take seeming to really notice Keith for the first time. “Hey man! Sorry, I didn’t recognize you there.” Hunk offered him a fist bump which Keith only slightly hesitated to return.

“It’s okay,” Keith said, “I hadn’t really planned on being here.”

Hunk raised an eyebrow and there was something Keith couldn’t quite read there. “Did Lance invite you?”

“I honestly had no idea this was even going on. I was just trying to get some new portfolio pictures.” Keith gestured at the camera in his hands.

“Oh sick!” Hunk said, peering over Keith’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you were a photographer. Please tell me you got some action shots. Lance would totally freak out.”

Keith frowned. “Well, I don’t really have the right equipment right now, and I mostly just wanted to get some landscapes…”

Hunk backed off, probably sensing a bit of Keith’s defensiveness. “Oh, hey, no worries! I didn’t mean to sound pushy or anything. I’ve just always thought photography is really cool! Don’t mind me.”

Keith gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Thanks.”

“Hunk, my man!” came Lance’s voice, which Keith was dismayed to realize he was becoming attuned to.

“Hey buddy! Congrats on the win.” The two hugged it out, slapping each other firmly on the backs.

Hunk turned and gave a small bow to Nyma. “Nyma, looking lovely as usual.”

Nyma smiled warmly. “Hi, Hunk. Thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Hunk said, fondly.

Meanwhile, Lance had approached the golf cart and rummaged in the cooler, getting out his own bottle of gatorade. Pidge didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, and they even tossed Lance a drawstring bag, which Lance promptly opened, pulling out a white snapback.

 _Oh no_ , Keith thought. With the bright orange tank cut low on his ribs, the white snapback, and the flirty grin, Lance looked exactly like every single fuckboy Keith tried to avoid. Any hope in this making Lance less attractive, however, was unfounded, because by some miracle, Lance made it work. This boy was not human.

“Now,” Lance said, sidling up next to Hunk, “please _please_ tell me you brought some of your award-winning, make-Gordon-Ramsey-cry sandwiches. I’m starving.”

Hunk gave an exasperated smile. “For the last time, my sandwiches did not make Gordon Ramsey cry. My soufflé did.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one,” Nyma mused.

“It’s a tale of epic adventure and a meme made real,” Lance said, waving his arms grandly in the air, but Hunk grabbed his hands.

“And one that we can’t spend all day telling,” he said and turned to the cooler he had been dragging through the sand. “Now, I didn’t make these, but…”

“Oh my sweet tech Jesus, is that Vrepit Sal’s?” Pidge asked, and Keith could have sworn they were drooling.

“Yup!” Hunk said, bringing out a bunch of sandwiches wrapped in paper. “Sal said he owes me for helping bring his business back, so these are on the house. He even threw in a couple extras, so Keith, there’s plenty if you’d like to join us.”

Keith fiddled with his camera strap. “Are you sure?”

Pidge patted him on the arm. “Yeah, come on! You’re already all the way down here, stay and hang with us.”

“Besides,” Lance chimed in, “didn’t I say you needed to get some local flavor in?”

“Alright,” Keith relented. “It’s probably better than going crazy next to the pool for the rest of the day.”

Lance took a seat next to Keith at the picnic table and propped a chin on his hand. “Don’t tell Allura I said this, but mood.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t love dragging drunk gay men back to their rooms after they drink too much tequila?” Keith asked, and he could feel the corners of his mouth quirking up involuntarily.

Lance bumped Keith’s shoulder playfully. “Actually, that’s one of the perks.”

Keith blushed and looked away, deciding to distract himself instead with the actual feast in front of him.

Hunk had managed to set up an impressive spread while the others grabbed seats around the table. There were multiple kinds of sandwiches, pickles, chips, and various sodas. Keith almost felt overwhelmed, but then his stomach rumbled loudly, and he followed everyone’s lead, grabbing whatever looked good.

He took a bite into soft bread, and he nearly fell over. He couldn’t tell if it was just the hunger, but this was the best damn sandwich he’d ever had.

Keith must’ve made some kind of face or embarrassing noise or something, because Lance laughed next to him. “See? I told you.”

Keith didn’t even bother responding, too busy eating.

“Let him bask in the glory that is Vrepit Sal’s,” Pidge said, grabbing another sandwich slice and a handful of chips for themselves.

“How is this so good?” Keith finally asked, finishing his bite. “It’s just a sandwich.”

Hunk laughed. “Man, stick with us while you’re here and you will not be disappointed. We’ll take you to the good places.”

Keith wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. He wasn’t really planning on staying long enough to make friends, let alone know where all the “good places” were in Arus. But something about Hunk’s easy smile and Pidge’s appalling table manners put him at ease.

He reached forward, snagging a pickle slice from the little plastic container.

Lance next to him let out what sounded like a strangled screech.

“What?” Keith asked, looking around, “is there a bug on my food?”

“No,” Lance said.

“Okay…” Keith took a bit of his pickle.

Lance made a disgusted noise.

“Seriously, what’s your problem?” Keith asked, practically throwing his food down on his plate.

“You’re offending my sensibilities,” Lance said primly.

Keith looked at him like he was growing a third eye. “And those would be?”

Lance turned away, nose up in the air. “Pickles are foul and anyone who likes them is automatically going to hell.”

Keith’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe this guy.

“Hey, I like pickles!” Hunk said, frowning.

“Except you, Hunk, of course. You’re an angel and we all know this,” Lance said.

“Let me get this right,” Keith said. “You shouted in my ear and told me I’m going to hell...just because I like pickles?”

“That’s right,” Lance said.

“For real? That’s pretty rich coming from a guy in a white snapback.”

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed. “The snapback is a classic look.”

“Yeah,” Keith scoffed, “for a fuckboy.”

“I like to think of it as reclaiming straight culture. I’m being subversive.”

“But Lance,” Pidge interrupted, “you can’t be subversive if you’re already a fuckboy.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond but he merely took a short breath before closing it again. “Low blow, Pidge. Low blow.”

Pidge straightened their posture and took a dainty bite of their food. “It’s what I do.”

“Well,” Nyma chimed in, “that and add a sense of general chaos to every situation.”

Pidge placed a hand over their heart. “Aw, Nyma! You’ve been paying attention!”

Hunk snorted. “To be fair, Pidge, it’s not that hard to pick up on your brand of chaos.”

“That’s sort of the point,” they responded dryly.

Everyone laughed at that, and even Keith couldn’t help but to crack a small smile. Though he wasn’t quite at the point where he’d admit it to anyone but himself, Keith was actually enjoying himself. He genuinely liked being around Hunk and Pidge, they were easy to talk to and didn’t push Keith’s boundaries, and, as lunch wore on, he even found that he quite liked Nyma, too. She was actually really nice, and had a quick dry wit--something Keith always appreciated in a person.

Lance, however… Keith was still working on that one. Despite his drunken gay-panic-induced overtures about a certain pool attendant’s dashing good looks, Keith still couldn’t quite relax around Lance. He was exactly the kind of high-energy, personable guy that made Keith nervous.

He’d never been, and never would be, the kind of person who could just insert himself into a conversation and feel comfortable. Yet, Lance always looked in his element, regardless of if he was talking to an old lady in a pool lounger, his volleyball partner, or a tactless, surly gay boy.

Keith supposed that, on some level, he actually liked Lance. At the end of the day, he was a decent guy, just like Shiro had said. He hadn’t once brought up the tequila-fueled incident of yesterday, nor any of the highly embarrassing things that Keith had said during it. And yet, that damn snapback was staring Keith in the face and somehow Lance thought it was acceptable to drizzle french fries in ketchup rather than dip them. After that particular conversation, Keith decided that his thoughts and words the day before were 70% purely the tequila’s fault. The other 30% he’d deal with preferably never.

The rest of lunch passed quickly, time moving faster under the influence of good food and laughter. Before anyone knew it, three sharp whistles blew from the direction of the courts and the four referees gathered there. People began moving again, slowly packing away their lunches and reclaiming courtside beach chairs. Since there were only eight teams remaining, the two center courts were opened up to spectators, allowing for larger audiences.

Lance and Nyma took off for their court after striking a series of victory poses and demanding high fives from everyone at the table, Keith included. The two ran a few laps around the court boundary before passing a volleyball back and forth, a few standing hits at each other sprinkled in here and there.

Keith helped Hunk and Pidge clean up the table, and then the three of them drove Rover over to the court. The ref for Lance and Nyma’s match looked like she wanted to say something about the golf cart being on the court, but Pidge kicked their feet up on the dash dramatically, lowering a pair of sunglasses _over_ their glasses. The ref merely shook her head and went back to watching over the warm-ups.

After the allotted warm-ups were over, Lance and the girl from the opposing team coin-tossed for the serve. They shook hands and parted ways, the girl leaving with the ball and Lance returning to Nyma with a careless shrug. Nyma didn’t seem to mind and continued to shuffle around the court, kicking smooth some of the rougher parts of the court.

Before long, the ref had climbed up onto their little tower and asked each side if they were ready. Both teams nodded and the whistle blew.

To say the next few hours were painstakingly intense would be an understatement. Keith had always avoided sporting events, not being much of a fan of the manic-energy that fueled them, but somehow this time was different. Keith was right there with everyone else, on the edge of his seat every hit, every serve, every dive. He had thought that the game he saw earlier was impressive, but that was almost nothing compared to what the players were dishing out now.

Almost every serve was jumped, saves were made with nothing more than a flat hand sliding under the ball at the last moment, and some of the hits were so intense they created small craters in the sand.

Lance and Nyma wound up winning their match, but it was close. 19-21 all three games. Hunk had peppered in explanations for Keith during the game, telling him how you had to win by two points, and that beach matches were the best two out of three.

There was a short break before the semi-finals, during which Lance and Nyma downed an entire gatorade each, and all but spoke in tongues, staying in the zone for their next match.

“We haven’t pulled out any shoots or slides yet, so this might be a good time. The other team won’t be expecting it,” Lance said.

“That’s true,” Nyma agreed. “How about the first clean dig off a spike we go for the shoot if you’re setting and the slide if it’s me?”

“God dammit you know the way to my heart so well. Slides are my favorites,” Lance practically moaned.

To say that the combination of his voice and exercise-flushed face sent something fluttering through Keith’s stomach was an understatement. He really had to get his body in line with his brain.

After grabbing another drink each, the pair ventured off to their new court, leaving Keith, Hunk, and Pidge behind.

“So, how many games do they have to play?” Keith asked as Lance and Nyma did some complicated secret handshake before the game started.

“If they win here, they’ll be in the gold medal round for either first or second,” Pidge said.

“And if they don’t win?” Keith asked, looking out as the ref blew his whistle. The other team looked seriously intimidating, making Keith rethink how much he feared “game faces.”

“If they lose, they’ll play another team for third.”

Keith nodded. He hadn’t really thought about how sports tournaments worked, but it seemed a bit weird to make you play again after you just lost. The most he’d done was track, and that was easy to understand: sprint for X meters and see who’s first.

This was a completely different game.

Keith had never really been one for team sports, preferring to win or lose based on his own merit, but even he could admire the fluidity with which Lance and Nyma played. They worked less as two individuals and more as a cohesive unit, clearly anticipating the other’s needs. It was evident that they had been playing together for a while.

Unfortunately, the other team worked just as well. Keith felt his heart pound in his chest as the opposing team would continue pulling ahead. Finally, Lance and Nyma managed to catch up, the score reaching 19-20. Nyma was at the back line, ready to serve, and Keith could’ve cut the tension around the court with a knife. She tossed the ball two handed and jumped after it, the ball floating over the net in a wobbly pattern. The other team managed to pass it, however, setting up a clean set for the spiker.

Lance tracked the hitter across the net, matching their position and jumping with them into the air. Things seemed to happen in slow motion for a moment, both men hanging two feet of the ground. Lance’s arms stretched high, his palms spread wide, as the opposing hitter arched back before swinging through the ball in a powerful strike. The ball connected with Lance’s hands and, for a moment, it seemed like it was the perfect block, but then the ball ricocheted oddly off of his fingers and to the side of the court.

Nyma darted after the ball, making an impressive effort at diving into the sand to catch it before it struck, but she just wasn’t fast enough.

The beach erupted in a mix of cheers and disappointed “aww”s, and the ref blew his whistle. Lance helped Nyma up before they moved to the center of the court, shaking the others’ hands.

Keith saw Lance give a bright smile, but the moment he looked away, his face fell. He looked like he didn’t know whether to punch someone or cry. Nyma bumped his hip, slinging her arm around his waist and giving him a reassuring smile.

“...-n’t worry about it, Lance,” Nyma said, Keith catching the words as she and Lance moved into earshot. “It happens.”

Lance sighed, slouching. “Yeah, but I still feel like shit. Fucking Sendak and his monster arms.”

“Oh, stop it.” Nyma rolled her eyes. “We still have one more game to win. Just think,” she said, stretching an arm out before them, looking off into the metaphorical distance, “four hundred dollars could still be ours.”

_Four hundred dollars…_

“Wait,” Keith said, thoroughly confused, “you mean this isn’t for fun? Are you guys actually, like, professionals?”

Nyma laughed. “Well, not yet. At least for me that is.”

“And of course it’s for fun,” Lance added. “The added fun is the prize money that will finally help pay for my scuba license.”

That was a new one. “Scuba license?” Keith asked.

Lance scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m, uh, studying marine biology.”

“Oh,” Keith said, trying to process this new information. He knew Lance was about his age, but he’d somehow forgotten that most people had lives outside of their work. He supposed Lance wouldn’t want to work at a beach resort forever, but it still took him slightly aback.

Keith realized he hadn’t said anything, so he searched for something. “You getting your Masters?”

If Keith didn’t know any better he would say Lance actually looked a little ashamed. “Well, no, not exactly.”

“Lance, here,” Hunk said, patting his friend on the shoulder with a look of pride, “is almost done with his Bachelor’s.”

“Congratulations,” Keith said, filing this new information away in his brain. His mental folder for Lance was getting concerningly large.

“I still have a year left and a whole thesis to write, so…” Lance trailed off.

Hunk gave him a hard look that Keith was very familiar with -- it was the one Shiro gave him when he was having none of his shit.

“You’re already working on your research and summer’s barely started,” Hunk said. “You’re going to graduate, and you’re going to go on and explore the ocean and save baby sea turtles.”

Lance flushed under Hunk’s enthusiastic praise. “I hope so, at least.”

“So it only costs two hundred dollars for a scuba license?” Keith asked. “That doesn’t seem too bad.”

Lance barked out a harsh laugh. “ _Cristo_ , I wish. When all’s said and done, it’ll probably cost about a thousand dollars for the license, lessons, and equipment rentals. I’ve been saving up for about two years now.”

“I see,” was all Keith could manage. All of a sudden he felt like hiding his camera, the body of which alone cost about $2000. Keith was never one to flaunt his wealth or rely on it overmuch -- or at least that’s what he thought -- but times like this really drove home how fortunate Keith was. Fortunate and spoiled.

Lance must’ve seen the guilt trip playing across Keith’s features because he cocked a hip out and placed his hands on his waist.

“Hey, I’ll have none of that rich-kid pity party from you,” he said, a no-nonsense expression on his face. “I worked hard to save for this, so it’ll just be all the sweeter when I finally get it.”

Keith tried to school his features back into something more neutral. “Sorry,” he started, “I didn’t mean to--”

Hunk clapped a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Keith, don’t worry about it. Not that it’s really an excuse, but we’re kind of used to it. Especially around here. Besides,” he added, shrugging, “everyone comes from different circumstances. It matters more how you act then what you were born into.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “Take Pidge for example.”

Pidge gave a lazy salute from their golf cart.

“They could have easily been a snobby, anti-social, tech-obsessed rich kid, but instead they are a snobby, anti-social, tech-obsessed rich kid who locks racist, old, white people out from the wifi.”

“Just doing my part,” Pidge said.

“I’d say they’re using their powers only for good,” Lance said, “ but I’m pretty sure they’ve hacked the Pentagon just because they could.”

“Hey, that’s totally for good!” Pidge said, clearly outraged. “You’ve seen the people in charge nowadays. They can’t be trusted with the missile codes.”

“And you can?” asked Nyma, elbowing them in the side.

“I never said that,” Pidge replied, the glare from the sun glinting white across their glasses.

A whistle blew from the courts again, and Lance and Nyma both turned towards the sound.

“Alright,” Lance said, reaching down to touch his toes before stretching towards the sky, “they’re playing our song, Nyma. You ready?”

“Ready to kick some ass.”

Hunk flashed the pair a thumbs up. “You got this guys.”

“Yeah,” Pidge said. “Play the sport, do the thing. Ball is life.”

“Good luck,” Keith added in.

Lance and Nyma said their thanks, grabbed more drinks, and hurried off to the court.

Let the record show that Keith did _not_ stare at Lance’s ass in those shorts as he walked away. And he most certainly didn’t check out his legs. Nope.

The game began shortly after and it was just as impressive as all the others Keith had seen. Maybe even more so considering that Lance and Nyma had been playing all day prior and were still pulling crazy moves left and right. The matches were close but, in the end, they pulled it off, winning on a clever shot by Lance aimed towards an unguarded corner of their opponents court.

Hunk let loose a booming and extended, “Sharpshooter lives!” and Pidge pounded repeatedly on their golf cart’s horn in excitement.

Lance and Nyma shook hands with their opponents and the refs, the consummate image of good sportsmanship. Then, Lance turned back to them, grinning like a kid on Christmas and throwing the group two thumbs up, before heading off to the registration tables with the ref.

 _What a dork_ , Keith thought, but he caught himself giving a small, fond smile. He quickly schooled his mouth into his typical slight scowl, though he couldn’t entirely say why he felt the need to do so.

He pulled his phone out from his bag to check the time and recoiled. He’d spent several hours at the courts alone, not to mention the time it had taken to wander all the way down here. But more than the time itself, was the bombardment of texts and missed calls from Shiro.

“Ah, fuck,” Keith muttered.

“Everything okay?” Hunk asked.

“Yeah, Shiro’s just gone into Soccer Mom Mode.”

Keith tapped on his messages, scanning through them.

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[1:07 pm]**

_Hey, just checking in! You get lunch?_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[2:13 pm]**

_Just got back and you’re not at the resort. Everything okay?_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:11 pm]**

_Not to sound like a helicopter parent, but where are you? I’m getting worried._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:28 pm]**

_I called, maybe you can’t pick up, but just please text me so I know you’re alive_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:52 pm]**

_Oh wait, I just checked your location. You’re probably watching the tournament. As you were._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:53 pm]**

_It’s a good thing we’ve got location sharing on. I was about to have a heart attack_

 

Keith rolled his eyes at his brother’s antics. In addition to the multiple texts, there were four missed calls and two voicemails that he was sure were full of increasingly worried admonitions. He huffed an exasperated, but fond, laugh and typed out a quick response.

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[4:21pm]**

_I’m alive, mom. Take some xanax and calm the fuck down_

 

Keith laughed as he saw the three dots that told him Shiro was typing appear and disappear multiple times before...

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[4:22pm]**

_You concern me_

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[4:22pm]**

_That wasn’t clear from the twenty texts and fifty missed calls_

 

“Watcha doin?” Lance asked, settling a sweaty head on Keith’s shoulder, reaching out to poke at Keith’s screen.

Keith jumped at the sudden closeness of the other boy, dropping his phone in the sand.

“Jesus fucking christ!” Keith said. “Do you know anything about personal space?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Pidge said, and Keith got the distinct impression that they were speaking from experience.

Lance bent down to retrieve Keith’s phone but paused staring intently at the still-open screen.

“Oh. My. God.” Lance’s eyes were wide as saucers as he looked directly at Keith. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Keith flushed and his jaw dropped. “Wh-what?”

“Kashi Go Lean Crunch. Kashi. Fucking. Go Lean Crunch!?” Lance all but exploded into hysterical laughter. “That is gold! Absolute _fucking gold!_ ”

Keith could barely understand him underneath all the laughs, but he found himself flushing with pride. He was glad at least one person appreciated his pure genius.

“Does he do this often?” Keith asked the others as Lance continued to chortle uncontrollably, half folded over himself.

Nyma snorted. “More than you want to know.”

“Although,” Hunk said, clearly speaking around his own contained laughter, “this time is pretty warranted. That’s a genius nickname.”

“Oh man,” Lance said when he had finally calmed down, wiping tears from his eyes. “Just for that, I’m inviting you out with us.”

“Out where?” Keith asked, just a little wary.

“Olkarion, just down the road,” Lance said, gesturing vaguely away from the beach. “We usually go for celebratory fried food and drinks after a tourney.”

Keith heard the word “drinks” and seriously considered just walking straight into the ocean.

“I don’t think I’m ready for any more alcohol so soon after being Tila Tekeithla,” Keith muttered

“Tila Tekei--holy shit, I’m definitely in love with you,” Lance said, hitting Keith with a look that practically knocked him on his knees.

“Oh, come on, Keith,” Nyma said gently. “It’ll be fun.”

“You don’t even have to drink,” Lance said, practically pleading.

“Pidge can’t anyways so you can be their sober-buddy,” Hunk added.

Pidge folded their arms behind their head. “In two years it’s over for all of you bitches.”

Keith looked up and saw the eager eyes of Hunk, Lance, Pidge, and even Nyma. Something in him swelled at the thought that these people seemed to want him to hang out with them. He’d only been in Arus for five days, and somehow he’d made tentative friends, despite his best efforts. Shiro would be so proud.

“So, what do you say, Mullet? You coming?”

Well, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

Keith gave a small nod, and Lance cheered, raising his fists. “Let’s go, Tila Tekeithla!”

 

~^~^~^~

 

Once everything had been packed up, the five of them made an impressive effort of all squeezing into Rover. Pidge had made some rather clever modifications to the golf cart, Keith discovered, and the hidden storage under each seat easily held all of their stuff, including Keith’s not-so-small camera bag. They compartments were also locked with rather high-tech keypads, which Keith raised an eyebrow at but decided not to question.

Still, even with all the extra space not taken up by their bags, it was a tight squeeze. Hunk had called shotgun, which seemed best anyway considering the guy’s impressive shoulder width. Unfortunately, that meant Keith was left to squeeze in the back with Lance and Nyma. Somehow, Lance had wedged himself in the middle, and Keith pretended not to notice all their points of contact, pretended that there wasn’t that pleasant buzzing under his skin as Lance’s long legs brushed his.

When Pidge hit the gas pedal, Keith nearly went careening into the sand, and he was only stopped by the arm Lance threw across Keith’s stomach. Honestly, Keith couldn’t even enjoy that moment because he was too busy thinking that there was no way a golf cart should have been able to move that fast. He rode a motorcycle, for fucks sake! But Lance just gave him a knowing smile and pulled his arm back.

It really wasn’t far to Olkarion. Pidge pulled up to the bar and they all hopped out. Keith looked up to see a beautifully decorated building, covered with all kinds of tropical foliage, the word OLKARION lit ablaze in neon green lettering. To Keith’s pleasant surprise, the bar wasn’t all that crowded. It was early yet, but even so, he couldn’t help but feel relieved.

The bar was open to the outside, so there was no increasingly familiar rush of A/C at the doors, but fans were placed smartly across the rooms to draw in a constant breeze from the gulf. The boardwalk floors were the same kitschy kind that Keith was finding to be ubiquitous in Arus, but somehow, at that moment, they bothered him just a little less. Potted palms dotted the room, giving everything a lush and natural feel, the terracotta walls adding a certain warmth that didn’t negatively add to the already stifling heat.

In his photographer’s opinion, Keith thought that the space actually worked really well. The cools tones of the foliage mixed well with the warm tones of the decor, creating a nicely balanced space. Any ideas about how to shoot the space were marred by the people sitting at tables and milling about the bar, but Keith could at least see the potential.

Lance made a beeline for the bar while Hunk, Pidge, and Nyma choose a booth off to the side, not quite in the corner, but far enough that they would avoid most of the foot traffic. Keith followed and pulled out his phone to send Shiro a quick message.

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[5:02 pm]**

_Don’t wait up_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[5:03 pm]**

_Oh worm?_

 

Keith rolled his eyes, not deigning to give Shiro a response.

“So, Keith…” Hunk said after they squeezed into the booth. “You’re a photographer?”

Oh boy. Small talk. Keith’s favorite thing. Normally, he’d just completely ignore whoever wanted to talk with him about the weather, but something about Hunk’s face seemed genuinely interested.

“Yeah. I mainly work freelance, so it’s kind of a side thing.”

“That’s so cool!”

“What kind of things do you shoot?” Nyma asked.

Keith fidgeted in his seat a little, not entirely used to so much attention at once. “Well, usually if it’s a commissioned shoot it’s, like, engagements and stuff. Or cheesy pregnancy photos.” Keith made a slight face at all the heteronormative bullshit he’s had to put up with over the years on those types of shoots.

“Oh man,” Pidge said, settling further into the booth, “no wonder you look so scowl-y all the time.”

Lance chose that moment to return, a tray of drinks in his hands. “Nuh-uh,” he said, setting the drinks on the table, “you are _not_ unlocking Keith’s backstory without me.”

“It’s not our fault you ran straight for the bar the minute you got here,” Pidge said.

Lance shouldered his way into the booth, squeezing in next to Keith, who felt like he was going to have a heart attack. “Do you want your Shirley Temple or not?” he asked, a calculating eyebrow raised.

Pidge pouted but extended a hand. “Give me my red sugar juice.”

“Thought so.” Lance passed the bright red drink over the table. “Okay, so we’ve got a vodka tonic for you, Nyma. And Hunk, Ryner said this is was their newest drink. It’s something with blackberries and sage? I don’t know.”

Hunk took an experimental sip and slid down in the booth a little with a sigh. “Oh my god I love Ryner. She comes up with the best combos.”

“And for Keith, I just got you a water. I know you said you didn’t want to drink, but if you want anything else, just go up and ask Ryner to put it on my tab,” Lance said, sliding Keith a large glass, and taking his own drink, which Keith thought looked like some kind of mojito.

“Oh, thanks,” Keith said, and pretending not to notice when their fingers brushed.

“Lance, did you pay for our drinks again?” Hunk said, sending Lance a look that made even Keith want to curl in on himself in shame. However, Lance seemed largely unaffected.

“Yup, and there’s nothing you can do about it, so drink up. We’ve got third place to celebrate!”

Hunk looked like he was torn between wanting to chew Lance out or cheer for him, but settled for an exasperated sigh instead.

“Fine,” Hunk conceded. “But next time is on me. To third place!”

He raised his glass dramatically and the others followed suit, echoing his sentiment. Keith raised his own glass, if a bit more quietly, clinking it against the others.

He thought he should be feeling weird, cheering for a couple people he had just met a handful of days ago, but the easy smiles of Hunk and Lance, and the good-natured ribbing from Pidge, made him feel more welcome than any place he’d been in a long time.

That thought scared him, more than it had any right to. He had never made friends this easily, and, quite honestly, he had never wanted to. He had his brother, and to some extent the rest of his family, and he never wanted or needed anything else. Normally, he didn’t bother to filter his words, knowing full well that his acerbic nature kept people at bay. But here, now, that possibility terrified Keith. He was so scared that he would say the wrong thing and send them running. And he was even more scared that this was something that worried him.

Keith looked over at Lance, his head thrown back and laughing boisterously at something Hunk said. Keith had really put his foot in his mouth yesterday, and despite his best efforts, Lance didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t even made fun of him for it, when Keith knew he very well could have. He wasn’t sure why exactly Lance had decided to invite him out, why Hunk was so nice to him, and why Pidge felt comfortable enough to poke fun at his disastrous gay ways. He didn’t know why, but he was more than grateful.

At that moment, one of the servers came over with baskets full of fried calamari, onion rings, and french fries and Keith pulled himself out of his reverie.

Keith had thought he wouldn’t be hungry after that insane lunch, but his stomach growled and he found himself reaching for the fries. As Keith was quickly discovering, time seemed to move faster when he was with this group. Before he knew it, the baskets of food had been decimated, and everyone was on their third drink, well into tipsy territory. The seating arrangement had also been rearranged at least four times by then, and Keith was now wedged between Pidge and Hunk. Lance and Nyma, meanwhile, were half draped across each other, complimenting each other’s earlier playing like white girls in a bathroom.

“You looked so good out there,” Lance said, curling an arm around her shoulder. “Like, so good. Olympics good.”

Nyma beamed, winding an arm around his waist. “You made me look good. I mean those sets?” Nyma fanned herself with a hand. “You sure you don’t want to come to UCLA with me?”

Lance gave a long sigh. “You know I love you, but I’m happy here, really.”

“I know,” Nyma said, resting her head on Lance’s. “I just think it would be good for you. Branch out, spread your wings. Fly like the beautiful lion you are.”

Lance burst out into giggles. “Lions don’t fly.”

“They do if they’re space lions,” Nyma said primly.

Keith shook his head. They were definitely past tipsy if they were talking about flying lions.

Hunk hummed appreciatively, twirling his decorative straw. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “You could probably build, like, some kind of lion-shaped spaceship.”

“Oh oh oh,” Pidge said, jumping in. “What if you built a bunch of them and they combined to form a super lion robot that fights, I dunno, some kind of evil space empire?”

“No, you know what would be cool?” Lance said. “A space whale that, like, travels through time or something.”

“Or maybe a teleporting space wolf,” Keith said, surprising himself by jumping in.

“Ooh!” Lance enthused. “Teleporting space wolf! I want three.”

Pidge clapped their hands. “Then it’s settled. I’ll text Matt and tell him NASA needs to make space lions, space whales, and space wolves.”

Nyma tilted her head. “Does NASA work with living organisms? I thought they were just rockets and stuff.”

“The truth is out there, Nyma,” Pidge said. “You don’t know what they’re hiding.”

“Yeah,” Keith added, “like aliens. And the real moon landing.”

Pidge slapped a hand on the table. “FINALLY! This man speaks the truth!” They turned to Keith. “Keith, would you be the Scully to my Mulder?”

Keith made a face. “A couple problems with that, the first being that I’m super gay. Second, I am not a skeptic, and I am quite frankly insulted.”

“Fine, we can be the Lone Gunman,” Pidge said, turning back to the rest of the group. Keith gave a small smile.

“Does anyone know what they’re talking about?” Lance asked.

Hunk took a long sip of his drink, like a man who’d suffered this topic for too long. “Government conspiracies.”

“Nuh-uh. No way.” Lance pinned Keith with a look. “You are not on the same wacky ‘the government is hiding everything from us’ kick as this looney ginger gremlin.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s not my fault you’re one of the sheep who thinks that Area 51 is just a tourist trap.”

Lance shook his head and stood up. “Nope. I need another drink if we’re going there. Nyma come with me, I need emotional support.”

Nyma snickered but climbed out of the booth after Lance.

“Oh boy,” Pidge said. “Time for Four Drink Lance.”

“Four Drink--what?” Keith asked, turning to them and raising an eyebrow.

Pidge gave a long sigh. “Have you seen Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

“Maybe once or twice, why?”

“Well, long story short, there’s the Santiago Drunkenness Scale, where one of the characters measures how drunk Amy is by how many drinks she’s had. After prolonged study and intensive note-taking, I have developed a Sanchez Drunkenness Scale.”

Hunk nodded sagely. “Lance likes to claim he’s got a god tier tolerance but, honestly, at about drink four he starts to crumble.”

“One Drink Lance is all smiley and a bit spacey, the usual. Two Drink Lance is giggly, as you’ve seen. And you’ve just had the pleasure of meeting Three Drink Lance, who acts like a drunk white girl who’s taken one too many shots of Svedka and thinks everyone’s her best friend.”

Hunk gestured to the bar. “See?”

Keith looked up and sure enough, Lance was leaning lazily on the bar, smiling at the bartender, an older woman with a fond look on her face. He was still clinging to Nyma, stroking her hair while he did so. It probably should have looked creepy, but Nyma was giggling.

A pang of jealousy hit Keith, and he tried not to let any sort of expression pass on his face. There wasn’t any reason to be jealous, truly. He and Lance weren’t really flirting, and Pidge had already said that Lance and Nyma weren’t an item. Keith barely knew Lance but even he could tell that he was simply an overly affectionate person. That was all.

“And you’re about to meet Four Drink Lance, it seems,” Hunk said, more than a little tired.

Keith looked up and saw two shots lined up on the bar. Lance grabbed one for himself, handing the other to Nyma, they clinked their glasses before tipping them back. Keith found himself staring at the slender curve of Lance’s neck.

Something cold hit Keith’s arm, and he jumped, twisting around to glare at Pidge. He looked down and saw an orange bottle, condensation beading.

“What the fuck, Pidge, why do you have gatorade?” Keith shouted. “And how is it still cold?!”

Pidge smirked. “I just thought you looked a bit thirsty.”

Keith narrowed his eyes but took the drink anyway. “You really need to stop doing that,” he muttered.

“Am I wrong?” they asked, looking over the top of their glasses.

Keith cleared his throat and looked away. “I don’t have to answer that.”

Hunk snickered but leveled a look at Pidge. “Pidge stop teasing him. I want Keith to keep hanging out with us.”

By that point, Lance had wandered back to the table, another mojito in hand. “What’s with the sourpuss? Someone tell Keith that My Chemical Romance broke up?”

“No,” Keith grumbled.

“We were just telling Keith about the Sanchez Drunkenness Scale,” Pidge said, clearly taking pity on Keith and changing the subject.

“Well, did you tell Keith that Four Drink Lance is a smooth motherfucker?” Lance said, smirking and sending Keith a wink.

Keith hoped the semi-dim lighting of the bar was enough to hide his blush.

“As you can see, Four Drink Lance is a bit of a flirt. He gets all aggressively bisexual and proud,” Pidge said matter-of-factly.

“That’s because bisexuals have twice as much fun as the rest of you. And we have the best flag.”

“Debatable, but I still fucking stan you,” Pidge said.

Lance raised a hand across the table. “Bi/ace solidarity for the win.”

Pidge gave him a high-five and grinned. “With Hunk being pan, we’ve got the perfect trio of invisible sexualities. We should rob a bank.”

Hunk pretended to wipe a tear from his face. “I love you funky little lesbians.”

Keith looked between them all. “So, wait, no one here is straight?”

“Technically, I am,” Nyma said, raising a hand.

“But,” Lance added, “she hangs out with us enough that she’s basically an honorary gay.”

“Aww, thank you,” Nyma said, patting Lance affectionately on the head. “Unfortunately, though, this honorary gay has to go. Rolo’s outside and he’s my ride.”

“Noooo,” Lance said, winding his lanky arms around Nyma and clinging to her.

“I’ve got training tomorrow morning,” Nyma said, prying Lance’s octopus arms off her.

“ _Me rompes el corazón_ ,” Lance sighed dramatically swooning against the booth.

“Sorry, love.” Nyma slid out of the booth a bit unsteadily. “You can’t sway me with your fancy Spanish. I’ll see you guys later. Keith, it was nice meeting you.”

She strolled out of the bar with a wave. Lance pouted.

“Looks like Five Drink Lance is out,” Hunk noted.

“Four Drink Lance didn’t last very long,” Pidge said, typing rapidly on their phone. “I’ve got to add that to the spreadsheet.”

Keith shook his head. “You have a whole spreadsheet?”

Pidge shrugged. “I can’t really drink in the bars, so I’ve found other ways to amuse myself.”

Lance flopped down further in the booth. “Yeah, at my expense.”

Hunk patted Lance’s shoulder. “Lance. Buddy. You make it too easy.”

Lance’s mouth dropped open in offense. “You know what?” He shot up from the seat and shuffled over to Keith, pushing him into the booth and forcing Hunk and Pidge further in. “I’m sitting next to Keith, you guys are mean.”

“Lance,” Pidge said, laughing into their hand, “you’re the one who asked me to start the Sanchez Drunkenness Scale. You said it was ‘for science.’”

Lance pursed his lips and Keith couldn’t help the laughter that came bubbling up from his belly.

“You’re serious?” Keith asked. He looked over at Lance whose face had gone slightly slack, his eyes a bit unfocused.

“You have a really nice laugh,” he told Keith. “You should use it more.”

Keith knew that there was no saving him at this point. He felt his face flush with heat as he found himself staring into Lance’s blue, blue eyes.

“Um…” Keith said intelligently.

“Fascinating,” Pidge said. “Normally, Five Drink Lance drunkenly rambles in Spanish about how he needs to burn down the White House. Hunk, are you seeing this?”

Hunk was tapping away at his phone. “Waaaay ahead of you, Pidge.”

Pidge turned to Keith. “Who knew you’d be so good for science?”

“You’re welcome? I’m very confused right now.”

Lance snorted. “According to my dad, I’m always confused.”

Hunk’s eyes widened, and it would’ve been comical if Keith hadn’t noticed the very real distress in them. “Okay, Lance, we might need to cut you off.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “What, like my dad did?”

Hunk and Pidge exchanged a knowing look, and Keith was left more confused than ever.

“Alright, Lance,” Pidge said, shoving at Hunk to slide out of the booth, “we’re gonna go get you some water and carbs.” Pidge pointed at Keith. “Distract him.”

“‘Distract him’,” Lance muttered when they had left. “ _No soy un niño._ ”

Keith felt like he had just witnessed something that he wasn’t meant to. Something that was so outside the boundaries of his business that he felt guilty just for having heard it. And yet…

“You okay?” Keith asked.

Lance sighed and rolled his head around to look at Keith. “Yeah, don’t worry about it, Mullet. Just my level four tragic backstory.”

Keith saw the moment Lance started devolving into a sad kind of drunk, and he knew he needed to do something, and fast.

“Um...so…” Keith said, searching and searching. _Distract him, they said. It can’t be that hard. What does he do? He’s a marine biologist, right? Fuck, what do marine biologists like?_ “Um...What’s your favorite kind of...shark?”

Lance’s eyes got wide. “You’re asking me about sharks?”

Keith couldn’t decipher the look on his face. Did he fuck up? He fucked up, didn’t he. “...yes?”

“You’re asking me about _sharks_ . _Eso es tan tierno._ I love sharks!”

Keith breathed a sigh of relief as the thundercloud seemed to clear from Lance’s eyes, and he looked off, tapping his chin.

“What’s my _favorite_ shark, though? I mean, I like the reef shark. It’s kind of the quintessential shark, pretty basic, but it’s just kind of The Shark, you know? But there’s also the snaggletooth shark that looks super scary but it’s actually really shy and just wants to hang around shipwrecks. Like you! But tiger sharks are badasses and they eat license plates, which is just kinda stupid in my opinion, but I guess if my stomach were filled with concentrated hydrochloric acid, I’d eat whatever I could find, too…”

Keith was taken aback. Okay. Lance really knew his sharks. He had only just found out about the marine biology thing earlier that day, but part of him hadn’t really believed it. To be fair, he’d only seen Lance in the context of the resort, but sitting here now, staring at him while he waxed poetic about something called the goblin shark, Keith couldn’t help but think Lance shouldn’t be doing anything else. His eyes had lit up, and he hadn’t stopped talking.

“...but of course then there’s the shortfin mako, which is super crazy fast and can eat _tuna_. Like, those fuckers go over forty miles per hour! But I think the longfin mako is prettier, which isn’t fair of me I guess, but like, I never pretended I wasn’t shallow. I hope I don’t hurt the shortfin mako’s feelings. It’s not its fault it was born with short fins.”

Lance had begun to gesticulate wildly, his arms flinging out as he got more and more animated. “Oh god, I can’t pick a favorite shark! It’s like picking a favorite child! Keith, why did you ask me to pick a favorite shark?”

He turned his wide, blue eyes on Keith. “They’re all so perfect. I love them _so much_.”

And much to Keith’s horror, Lance began actually crying.

“Keith, I love all the sharks. I just want to protect them. They’re so stupid and they don’t have arms so they bite things and I love them.”

Tears were streaming down Lance’s face in earnest now, and Keith had no idea what to do. Lance kept talking faster and faster, and suddenly he was just speaking in a stream of Spanish.

“ _Y todos estos pescadores odian a los tiburones, y algunas personas cortan sus aletas y las usan en sopa de aleta de tiburon y luego los devuelven al mar, pero no pueden nadar por que les cortaron sus aletas y eso es super malo y por eso necesito protejerlos, pero no puedo protejerlos a todos, y las personas siguen teniendoles miedo, y ellos si muerden cosas pero no es su culpa que esten al tope de la cadena alimenticia_.”

To Keith’s utter relief, Hunk and Pidge had finally returned, Pidge carrying a basket full of pretzels, and Hunk with two giant glasses of water.

The two stopped in front of the table and stared, bar treasures still in hand.

“Dude,” Pidge said, “what did you do?”

Keith opened his mouth to respond but he was so baffled by the whole situation, nothing came out. All he had done was ask a question and now Lance was crying? Like, almost full on sobbing?

“Did you ask him about sharks or turtles?” Hunk asked.

“It might have been sharks,” Keith admitted, his voice a little strangled.

Hunk set the glasses down. “Oh thank god.” He slid back into the booth. “Don’t ever ask drunk Lance about turtles.”

“What’s wrong with--”

Pidge held up a hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there. New Years Twenty-Sixteen is the only explanation you’re getting and trust us when we say, you don’t want to know.”

Hunk sidled closer to Lance and slid him a glass. “Alright buddy. Here you go. Fresh _agua de vida._ ”

Lance sniffled but picked up the water. “ _Los tiburones viven en el agua._ ”

Keith did his best to process everything that had just happened but didn’t get very far. The only thing he could solidly take away from this was that he should never ask a drunk Lance about sharks, or any other marine creature, ever again.

Once Hunk and Pidge had managed to get a pretzel and both glasses of water into Lance, they all jostled out of the booth and headed for the door. Lance tried to say goodbye to everyone they passed, but everything was coming out half in Spanish and only a few people seemed to understand.

The four of them piled back into Pidge’s golf cart, Hunk taking shotgun with Pidge since he was basically sober and, unlike Keith, he knew where they were going. Pidge took off back towards what Keith assumed was the beach, but at a much more reasonable speed this time.

Keith sneaked a look over at Lance in the darkness of the night. The other boy had his head tipped back and arms stretched across the back of the seat. It might have just been the intermittent street lights, but Keith swore he could see the remnants of tear tracks on Lance’s cheeks. A pang of guilt flashed through him.

“Look,” Keith said quietly, not wanting to distract Pidge and Hunk from their conversation up front. “I’m sorry if I upset you earlier. I didn’t mean to.”

Lance rolled his head over to meet Keith’s shy gaze, and Keith could see the telltale sign of sober clarity starting to shine through. “You don’t have to apologize, Keith. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Keith scrunched his brows. “But you were crying. A lot.”

“Ah, yeah, well you can’t trust Five Drink Lance with conversations about marine life. My twenty-first birthday fell on Shark Week and I don’t think Hunk has ever forgiven me.”

Keith shrugged and looked down. “Well, either way, I’m sorry.”

Lance went quiet after that and Keith worried he had said something wrong -- again -- and chanced a quick look. Lance was staring, but there was something unreadable about his face.

“I like you, Keith,” Lance said, but the words carried a heavier weight than they should. They weren’t words of encouragement, or even a confession of a school crush. Instead, Keith felt like Lance had let down a wall of sorts. It was odd to think that a guy like Lance even had walls, as open and as friendly as he was, but Keith still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been let in. What that meant for the future, Keith didn’t know -- didn’t want to know -- but just then, with the stars above and the wind brushing at his face, Keith felt more at peace than he had in a very long time.

 

~^~^~^~

 

They finally reached the beach parking lot, and Pidge dropped Hunk and Lance off at Hunk’s yellow van. Keith shifted to the front seat and Pidge drove the two of them the rest of the way to the resort. They didn’t said anything, much to Keith’s intense relief, but he felt the heaviness of their gaze on him as they parted ways.

Shiro was still up when Keith entered the villa, his computer resting on his lap as he typed something out intently. He slid his reading glasses up into his hair and peered over at Keith.

“You were gone a while. Did you have fun?”

Keith leaned back against the door. “There needs to be a sign before you enter this town that says ‘Do not ask local pool attendant about sharks’.”

Shiro simply nodded and turned back to his computer. “Five Drink Lance?”

“Five Drink Lance.”

“Just never ask about--”

“About turtles, yeah, I’ve been warned,” Keith said, and headed for the guest room. Just before crossing the threshold, he turned back.

“And actually, I did have fun.”

Shiro paused in his typing and looked up, a gentle smile on his face. “I’m glad.”

 

When Keith woke up the next morning the sun was still beating into the room like a spotlight, but it was much more tolerable without the hazy cloud of a hangover. He slid out of bed and went to retrieve his toothbrush, but remembered he had left it next to the sink the day before. He grabbed the rest of his toiletries and shuffled to the bathroom.

The events of the day before flashed through Keith’s mind as he went through his morning motions, but a pair of blue eyes may have cropped up more than anything else. Keith tried not to dwell on that fact. He carried his things back to the guest room, but left his shampoo, deciding to let it dry first before packing it away again. He’d grab it later.

Shiro was nowhere to be seen but there was a note next to the coffee pot which, blessedly, still had about two cups worth left in it. Keith picked up the note and quickly scanned the short message.

_Keith,_

 

_At an alum event downtown, should be back later._

_Eat a proper breakfast (lone granola bars do not count) and take a water with you if you go out today. Call if you need anything._

 

_Love,_

_Shiro_

 

Keith huffed a laugh through his nose and set the note aside. Shiro was such a mom sometimes, but Keith would never take him for granted. Not after everything he’d helped Keith go through, everything he’d overcome. Keith opened the cabinet next to the fridge and pulled out a box of cereal, bypassing the granola bars. He may never take Shiro for granted, but he also didn’t put it past him to have counted the number of granola bars left in the box.

Quickly eating his breakfast, Keith cleaned up and headed back to the guest room to gather his things. It was just pushing 10:30 so Keith figured he had about an hour before the midday sun hit with its heat and, more importantly, bad photo lighting. He quickly packed up his camera bag, taking more zoom than wide-angle lenses this time, and was sure to shove a water bottle into the side pouch before venturing outside.

Since he had gone right yesterday, today Keith turned left towards the unfamiliar side of the beach. He managed to get a few clean shots of the water line and some tall grasses without anyone in it, but compared to the amount of photos he tried to take the number was frustratingly low.

At a certain point, the heat became too much and Keith opted to find a shady spot beneath some palms, sipping his water and watching the waves roll in slow and lazy. How did people live down here all year? Keith had been here for about a week now and it felt like the heat had increased tenfold during that time. He shuddered to think about what it would be like in another week. Or even two.

Keith paused at that thought, the water bottle halfway to his mouth. Another week… Another _two_ weeks. It had never been in him to linger, to stay in any one spot for more than a week, maybe a week and a half, at a time. But here he was, sitting in the most ungodly heat he had ever experienced, a Boston boy with a track record of flightiness, contemplating two, even three weeks in one place.

The thought was jarring but, somehow, not...uncomfortable. Which was perhaps what surprised Keith the most. Nothing about Arus was causing his skin to crawl with the usual all-consuming prickliness of needing to flee, of needing to get the hell out of dodge and start again somewhere new. Somewhere entirely and wholly unconnected to himself.

Arus was supposed to be the same as anywhere else. He was supposed to stay for a week max and then, when the unavoidable urge to vanish settled in, he was supposed to flee. Off to his next destination of who the hell knew for however long it took to feel restless once more.

So what was so different about this place? Why had that not happened yet? A full week in and, if anything, the urge to run was subsiding the longer he stayed.

Keith couldn’t quite pin down an answer, but the more he thought about it the more a certain pair of piercing blue eyes and expanse of sun-bronzed skin flashed across his mind. It was enough of a shock to send Keith to his feet and back out into the heat of the sun, anything to escape the pitfall of that mental rabbit hole.

And so he walked. He walked and took photos when the moment struck him, or when a spot was sparse enough of leathery locals and lobster-backed tourists. He walked to keep his mind in the present, and his thoughts focused on simply the sand shifting beneath his feet and the way the passing day played with the shadows of the world around him.

Before he knew it, the sun was drenching the sky in deep hues of red and orange, setting the clouds on fire and the gulf to the richest jewel green Keith had ever seen. Having no idea where he was, again, he felt it was a good time to turn around. It would be fully dark by the time he got back, but then, Keith had never really been averse to having nothing but the stars for company.

Eventually, the sun disappeared completely, leaving nothing but the insufficient glow of the half-moon and the shine of distant sodium lights to navigate by.

Keith plodded on, searching for familiar buildings but quickly decided the beach at night was just too indecipherable. He thumbed open his phone and swiped to the Find My Friends app. The little picture of Shiro -- flatteringly mid-sneeze -- appeared just a bit further up the sand. Keith pocketed his phone and took off once more for the villa, only registering later that he had thought of it as heading home.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Keith was leaning against the kitchen counter, legs burning from the run he had taken that morning and a glass of water in hand, when Shiro emerged from his room. Bleary-eyed and just awake, it took him a moment before he realized Keith was there.

“You’re up early,” Shiro yawned.

Keith finished his water and stepped aside, giving Shiro access to the coffee maker. “I’m usually up this early. This damn state has just ruined my routine.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said, “I’m pretty sure they voted on it before you got here. The ‘Throw Keith Off His Groove’ bill.”

“This is a liminal place, Shiro. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“If you think about it, every place is a liminal place.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “It’s too early for your existential bullshit. Drink some coffee.”

Shiro chuckled as he scooped out coffee grounds and set the machine to run. Once the coffee had finished, Shiro pulled down two mugs from the cabinet and filled them. Keith reached out to grab one but Shiro pulled it back, shaking his head.

“You get this only if you agree to help me run some errands today.”

“Oh come on!”

Shiro shrugged unsympathetically. “You stay here, you eat my food, you help.”

Keith groaned but conceded the point. Both he and Shiro had ridiculously sizeable trusts of family money, but Shiro barely touched his, preferring to live off of what he had managed to build for himself. The villa, his car, his day-to-day expenses were the results of hard work and determination. Not what their family had given them. His commitment to living by his own means was something that Keith had always admired about Shiro.

“Alright, fine,” Keith said, reaching out to snag the coffee mug before Shiro could add on any more caveats. Besides, running errands didn’t seem too bad.

“What’s on the agenda?”

Shiro hummed contemplatively as he poured cream and sugar into his cup. Keith made a face at it. He would never understand how his brother was able to drink his coffee like that. It was barely even coffee anymore.

“Well, let’s see,” Shiro said. “I have to deposit a few checks, drop off some mail, hit the grocery store. Not too much, really.”

Two hours later, and Keith was beginning to regret accepting that coffee. ‘Not too much’ had turned into Shiro dragging Keith across all of Arus, and they weren’t even halfway done. First to the bank, where he had to wait while old people slowly shuffled forward, making deposits so glacially that Keith thought he’d be their age by the time they got to the teller. Then, the post office, where some geriatric tried to argue that back in his day, stamps cost a penny and he shouldn’t have to pay more for the ones with little palm trees on them. Then, Shiro decided to take him into Publix.

Now, Keith had been all over the US in his four years on the road, and in his forays into the South, he had seen Publix in passing but never managed to go in. In the end, it might have been the demographic, the town, or simply the store itself, but Keith found himself hating every minute of it.

The floors were an ugly hospital-like linoleum, and all the accents were green. _Green_ . The employees all wore green polos and black aprons, and they were much too friendly. Shiro waved at a couple workers as he walked in, the automatic sliding doors letting out a _whoosh_ of the now-familiar air conditioning.

“Shiro,” Keith asked, looking around, “what fresh hell is this?”

“Publix,” Shiro said, snagging a cart and pushing his way down the aisle. Like a good brother, he refused to elaborate further.

Keith’s eyes narrowed. Were those...pool toys? Next to a display of donuts? Seriously, who designed this place?

Keith, in all his befuddlement, failed to notice Shiro stopping in front of him, and he nearly crashed into a poorly placed display of BOGO blueberries.

“What the--” Keith said, cutting himself off as Shiro picked up one of the inflatable pool floaties. It was an obnoxiously large shark that doubled as a recliner. According to the picture, it even had a cupholder. Because that was a thing, apparently.

Shiro handed him the box and Keith nearly staggered under the sudden weight. Why were these things so heavy when they were uninflated?

“Hold this up, I need to take a picture and send it to Lance,” Shiro said, and Keith balked.

Before he could protest, Shiro had pulled up his phone and snapped a photo, typing out a quick message before pocketing the device and pushing the cart forward.

Keith stood there for a moment in shock, the overpriced inflatable shark still in his hands.

“Come on, help me pick out snacks,” Shiro called, and Keith shook himself out of his stupor.

He shoved the shark back on the shelf and ran after his brother, dodging middle-aged soccer moms and an old man with an oxygen tank. God this place was weird.

“Are you sure this is a real place and not the waiting room from Beetlejuice? Because I feel like I’m about to see a man with a pterodactyl head,” Keith said once he had caught up.

Shiro chuckled. “You’re just upset that it’s not Wegmans.”

Keith eyed one of the employees, who looked like he was about to try and ask them if they needed help. “At least they keep the inflatables away from the baked goods.”

Shiro kept pushing the cart, grabbing things off the shelves as he went. “I’m not about to argue with you, but seriously, you’ve got to help or I’m just going to buy all the healthy shit and you’re going to have to eat real granola.”

“And you wonder why your name is Kashi,” Keith said, making a point to grab a package of Oreos and toss them in the cart.

“Kashi is a terrible cereal made for people with no sense of taste whatsoever,” Shiro declared.

Keith shrugged. “You can’t spell Takashi without kashi though, so joke’s on you.”

Shiro looked as if he were about to respond but, before he could, his phone buzzed pulling his attention away. He swiped open the message and snorted. Keith tried to peer over Shiro’s shoulder but their height difference was not in Keith’s favor.

“Hey, Keith, can you do me a favor and go grab that shark for me?”

“...Why?”

“I need it.”

Keith crossed his arms. “Again, why?”

“Apparently, unless I ‘rescue’ it Lance is never speaking to me again,” Shiro said, tapping at his screen. “That, and I really want to make it look like it ate my arm.”

“Shiro, that thing costs like fifty bucks,” Keith said, thoroughly unimpressed. Though, he would admit that asking Shiro to “rescue” an inflatable shark sounded very much like Lance. Keith pointedly ignored the fact that he even was able to recognize what sounded like Lance and what didn’t.

“Oh, fine,” Shiro said, handing the cart off to Keith, “I’ll go get it. You keep stocking up.”

“But Shiro--”

Keith’s protests died on his lips as Shiro rounded the corner and disappeared. He _hated_ grocery shopping, and Shiro knew this. Bastard.

He stared down the unfamiliar aisles, looking up at the signs to try and get his bearings. He sighed and forged onward, trying to avoid bumping into motorized scooters and harried moms pushing race car carts full of screaming kids.

Keith found himself pulling all his usual comfort foods off the shelves, letting routine and a bit of spite guide him down the aisles. He even grabbed his own brand of peanut butter, the one Shiro definitely didn’t like.

By the time Shiro caught up to him, ridiculous pool toy in hand, Keith had filled the cart about halfway with his own favorite foods. It wasn’t until they were in the checkout line, Shiro making small talk with the cashier and bagger, that Keith realized what he had done.

He’d been in Arus an entire week, and here he was, buying enough food to last at least one more, if not two. It wasn’t as if Keith was just noticing the time that had elapsed since he had arrived, but now, he was confronted with the physical manifestation of more promised time as it slid along a conveyor belt.

Shiro eyed the items as the cashier waved them across the scanner. "You better not leave me with half-eaten boxes of everything," he joked, though Keith could see the genuine question lurking beneath. Shiro probably expected him to be gone within the next few days.

Keith poked a container of butter, tipping it on its side as it slid past. "I, uh, was gonna try and stay for another week actually. If that's okay with you," he tacked on.

"Oh," Shiro said, pleasant surprise lifting his features. "God, yeah it's okay, Keith. You don't even have to ask."

Shiro was smiling so happily that Keith couldn't help but to smile himself, albeit a bit smaller and shyer. Shiro had most likely thought that he was on borrowed time already with Keith. That Keith had just basically said he would be staying another whole week was probably nothing short of a small miracle to Shiro.

Keith had his reasons for staying, many of which he wasn't ready to examine to closely in the light of day, but making his brother happy was certainly no small part of his decision. He acted taciturn and surly, but Keith would fight to the ends of the universe for Shiro, and he knew his brother would do the same for him.

When they returned to the villa later, errands complete and the day drawing to a close, Keith left his shoes by the door, next to Shiro’s.

He told himself it was because it was convenient and not because they looked at home there.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Keith was trying. And when he said he was trying this time he actually meant it. No more sitting taciturnly by the pool trying to adopt a persona that just was not him. He was going stir-crazy just thinking about doing that again. He would stay another week, but he would do it his way.

Tuesday found him awake by 7:00 and in the resort gym by 7:30. The restlessness and complacency he usually felt when stuck anywhere for too long was definitely not as bad as usual, but it was still there, lurking just beneath his skin. But, he had made it a week. One whole week without going completely insane, tequila-fueled incidents notwithstanding. He had told Shiro he would stay for one more week. If he could do that, then Keith could certainly say he had more than tried by his own standards.

Working out had always been a good outlet for Keith to burn off some of his extra energy, so he figured getting to the gym in the mornings might help curb his desire to run, and keep the need for motion in check.

So there he was, headphones blasting and muscles burning, his skin flushed by something other than the heat outside. His feet pounded against the treadmill, the vibration of his steps thrumming satisfyingly up his legs. Treadmills were never as good as running outside, but it certainly beat trying to trudge through the sand.

The machine beeped and decreased the speed, starting the cool-down phase of Keith’s run. He was breathing heavy and his body ached, but Keith felt good. Probably the best he had felt since getting to Arus. He no longer felt like he would have to flee at any given moment. Of course, he would have to wait and see just how long that lasted.

Keith glanced at his phone. 8:30. It was probably time to head back. He grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his face and wrapping it around his neck as he walked out of the gym.

A sudden peal of high-pitched laughter caught his attention, and Keith swung his head the right. The daycare doors were slightly ajar, and he could just barely glimpse the flashes of toddlers waddling past. Not being one for kids, Keith turned to head back to the villa when another, much more frustratingly familiar laugh echoed softly down the hallway, stopping Keith dead in his tracks.

Keith waged a battle with himself for about half a minute before his curiosity won out and he slowly made it his back down the hallway towards the daycare. He sidled up next to one of the windows that looked into the room, trying to hide himself behind a rather sizable turtle sticker. He peeked in and his heart practically seized at what he saw.

Lance was sitting on the floor, legs criss-crossed with a little girl with insanely curly hair nestled in the middle. They were both occupied by the little bundle of strings they held, Lance holding his out in front, his arms caged around the toddler. The little girl had an intensely focused look on her face, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. Lance, on the other hand, looked rather serene, a gentle smile on his face as he expertly wove the strings together. Keith felt something in him melt a little as he gazed at the scene.

And then another kid appeared, a young boy with a half-toothed grin, and he waved at Keith through the window, a high-pitched “hi!” leaking through the glass. Keith froze and watched as Lance looked up, expecting his face to turn disgusted at having caught Keith standing there watching him and the kids like some kind of weirdo. Yet, when recognition showed in Lance’s eyes, he just smiled and beckoned Keith inside.

Keith’s fight or flight kicked into high gear, and he was about two seconds from booking it out of there, but Lance simply chuckled, pointing to the door, and something in Keith relaxed. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his face with the towel again, thankful that his having just come from the gym could explain away the redness he had felt resurge under Lance’s gaze.

He tentatively pushed open the door, the shrieks and general little kid clamor growing louder.

“Keith!” Lance said with as much enthusiasm as one of his small charges. He had a large grin on his face as his eyes met Keith’s. In passing, Keith noticed that his hands barely paused in their weaving as he looked up, but Keith was mostly caught by how strikingly blue his eyes were.

“H-hey, Lance,” Keith said. “How are things?”

Lance shrugged, grin relaxing into a smile. “As good as they can be, considering I cried about sharks to this guy I wanted to impress.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitched up involuntarily. “I’m sure he appreciated the marine biology lesson.”

Lance huffed out a laugh and ducked his head.

At that moment, one of the little kids had toddled up to Lance, tugging on the sleeve of his baby blue resort t-shirt.

“ _Sr. Lance ¿Puedo tener otro jugo?_ ”

“Sure thing, buddy. Maybe if you ask nicely, you can get Mr. Keith to help you?”

This last bit was a question directed at Keith, who realized then that the little kid was looking at him expectantly.

“Um, what?” Keith asked intelligently.

“Mr. Keith,” the boy said, though it came out more like _Keef_ , “can I please have another juice?”

Keith gave Lance a distressed look, but Lance just gave him an encouraging nod and gestured towards a mini-fridge in the back of the room. “Do you mind? I’ve kind of got my hands full. Er, well, legs actually.”

Keith could see that much. Not only was he entertaining the little girl sitting in his lap, but he was also trying to keep an eye on a couple of the other kids who were fighting over who got to use the blue string for their bracelets. The kids moved around so much it was hard to keep track, but Keith counted at least five of them, and Lance was the only adult in the vicinity.

He knew that this was Lance’s job, but there was no way he’d say no to helping out a bit. Besides, all he had to do was get this kid some juice, right? He could handle that.

“Um, sure,” Keith managed after a moment. He ambled over to the fridge and pulled it open, scanning the options. He startled a little when he noticed the kid had followed him over and was peeking around Keith’s leg.

Keith peered into the fridge, noting the various colored pouches. “Which one do you like?” he asked the small boy.

The boy worried at one of his fingers, considering. “Mmmmm, the blue ones!” he decided excitedly.

Keith handed him the blue colored pouch and watched as he bounded away happily.

“Theo,” Lance called from his spot on the floor, “ _¿Qué se dice?_ ”

The boy, Theo apparently, turned a toothy grin towards Keith. “Thank you!”

He teetered off back to Lance’s side, where he plopped down with his juicebox and sipped loudly, peering with bright eyes at the bracelet Lance was weaving. The other three kids seemed to have abandoned their own bracelets and were now happily playing together in the other corner. Keith let his curiosity get the better of him and he crossed the room to where Lance was, settling on the floor across from him in the newly vacant space.

Lance’s fingers moved with surprising dexterity, looping and knotting the strings with practiced ease, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. Keith watched in awe as Lance deftly gathered all the strings together and tied them off in knot before braiding the lingering threads into two tails. He held up the purple, white, and black bracelet before him in a pose of triumph.

“Success!” he cried.

The little girl in his lap reached up towards the bracelet, her tiny hands making grabbing motions. “Can I see?”

Lance handed the bracelet off to her but with an admonishing expression. “Okay, but be careful. This is for a friend.”

The little girl’s eyes widened as she gingerly took the bracelet in her hand, cradling it like it was made of something much more delicate than string. Lance meanwhile began picking out new colors from a pile off threads next to him, this time choosing green. He looked up, catching Keith’s eye.

“Want to make one?” Lance said, holding out the craft supplies.

Keith shook his head. “I don’t know how.”

“Oh come on, it’s easy! Right, Sam?” he said, turning to the little girl in his lap with a grin.

Sam nodded enthusiastically still turning Lance’s bracelet around in her hands. “Yeah, ‘s’easy!”

Keith hesitated. Friendship bracelets usually required friends, after all. “I don’t even know who to make one for.”

Lance shrugged, tying a loop into the end off his new strings. “Whoever you want, really. Yourself. Shiro. Oh my god.” He stopped mid-knot, excitement flashing across his face. “Make one for Shiro.”

Keith considered that. Shiro would honestly be so thrilled that he would probably wear it. “Give me the gaudiest colors you have.”

Lance gave him a Cheshire grin. “You’ve got it.” He passed him a plastic container.

Keith peered inside and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch up. He pulled out red, blue, yellow, and green, as well as a black with a sparkly purple thread.

“He’s gonna hate this so much,” Keith said, smiling wickedly.

“You my friend,” Lance said, respect evident in his voice, “are a true sibling.”

Keith raised an eyebrow but stayed focused on pulling the threads out from their spools, and lining them up to be the same length. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

Lance huffed a small laugh. “Oh, you have no idea. I’m the middle of five.”

“Five?” Keith could practically feel his eyes bugging out of his head. “Holy sh--shnicker...doodle.” He glanced around guiltily at the almost curse.

“Nice save,” Lance snickered.

Keith looked back to his bracelet, ignoring the burning at the back of his neck, but was at a loss of what to do now that he had the strings lined up. He peeked over at Lance’s bracelet, trying to figure out the next step but his eyes caught amused blue ones instead.

“You’ll want to double that length and then fold the strings in half,” Lance supplied helpfully.

Keith did as instructed and cut the ends.

“Okay, so now tie a knot at the bend of the strings so you’ll have a loop at the top.”

“Like this?” Keith asked, holding up his attempt.

Lance beamed proudly as if Keith had just won the science fair rather than a tie knot with embroidery floss. “Yeah, perfect!”

The three kids in the corner chose that moment to scurry across the room, stopping before Lance with excited eyes.

“ _Sr. Lance ¿Podemos tener las cosas para colorear?_ ” a young girl with black glossy pigtails asked.

“ _¿Puedo escuchar un por favor?_ ” he asked them kindly.

“ _¡Por favor!_ ” they all chimed together.

“Okay, _un momento_.” He lifted little Sam up from his legs. “Sorry, Sammy.”

“‘S’okay,” she replied, not even once taking her eyes off the bracelet she was making.

“Be right back,” Lance said, standing with a wink.

Keith did his best not to watch as he crossed the room and stretched up on his toes to reach a box on the top shelf of toys. He did his best, but he might have slipped once or twice. The boy was _toned_.

He pulled his attention back to the strings in his hands but could do little more than stare at them.

“You have to tie knots!” Sam said, her voice shy but clear.

“Oh,” Keith said, looking in confusion down at the mess of colored thread. _Well_ , he thought, _here goes nothing_. He started to loop some of the threads over each other, trying to imitate what he saw Lance doing earlier.

“No, not like that!” Sam said, giggling. “You gotta do it like _this_.” Her little fingers fumbled a bit with the delicate string but she made a clumsy knot and pulled it tight.

Keith furrowed his brows in concentration as he passed a handful of strings over each other. He held out the bracelet for Sam’s approval. She nodded once. “Good job,” she said with the intense solemnity of a judge passing sentence.

Keith made a few more passes of the string, the colors clashing horribly. He grinned as he thought of how Shiro’s face would look when he gave it to him. He knew that Shiro would probably give him a pained grin as he saw the aesthetic trainwreck that made up the color scheme, but that he would insist on wearing it anyway.

When Keith was almost halfway done, he felt a shadow pass over him. He looked up to see Lance grinning down at him, glancing between him and Sam.

“You both getting along?” Lance said, planting his hands on his hips in a comical mimicry of a 50s housewife.

“Yeah!” Sam said. “I teached Keith how to tie knots!”

“I’ll bet you taught him really well,” Lance said, correcting her gently.

“She did,” Keith said, trying his best not to let his smile be awkward as he looked to the little girl next to him. He wasn’t exactly a kids kind of person, but he liked Sam. Liked her quiet composure and shy smiles.

“So, Mullet,” Lance said, sitting back down and getting to work on his own bracelet, fingers dancing across the thread, “are you just that bad at tying knots or is the lopsided bracelet an aesthetic choice?”

Keith made an affronted noise. “What happened to Sam teaching me well?”

Lance shrugged. “Knowledge and skill aren’t always connected.”

Keith glanced between his and Sam’s bracelets. He had a point. Despite Sam’s young age, her bracelet was at least symmetrical. Keith’s looked like it was trying to curl in on itself.

He wanted to retort that Lance’s wasn’t perfect, either, but the truth was, Lance’s bracelet looked professionally done. Keith sadly examined his own tangled mess.

“Hey,” Lance said, bumping Keith’s shoulder with his own, “once I’m done with Pidge’s, I can help with yours.”

Keith looked at Lance in curiosity. “That’s for Pidge?” he asked.

“Yup,” Lance said, weaving green thread with white and black. “She’s been feeling a bit frustrated, having people ask her pronouns all the time, so I figured I’d make her a couple of bracelets. Green, for a they/them kind of day, and purple for she/her.”

Keith wanted to say that he was taken aback but that sounded very much like something Lance would do. Despite only having known him for about a week, Keith could already tell that Lance was much more observant than he let on. He was still up-front, abrasive, and a little obnoxious, but he wasn’t clueless.

“That’s really nice of you,” Keith said, focusing his eyes intently on the strings between his fingers.

He saw Lance shrug in the periphery of his gaze. “Well, I know it’s been bothering her for a while, so,” another shrug, “I thought this might help.”

Keith nodded thoughtfully, and he and Lance wove in silence.

When Keith reached what he felt like was a good stopping point, he tied off the ends and held up his finished product.

Sam took one look at it and burst out into laughter. Keith wanted to be upset, but the pure delight on the little girl’s face more than made up for the fact that she was pretty much laughing _at_ him.

“Your bracelet is...well, it’s something,” Lance said, stifling his own laugh behind his hand.

“I tried, okay?!” Keith said, crossing his arms and frowning. “It’s not like I’ve done this before.”

Lance continued to snicker but held out his hand, setting his own nearly-finished bracelet aside. “Here, give that to me.”

Keith handed over the stringed monstrosity, a pout pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Lance scrunched and pulled at the threads of Keith’s bracelet, tightening knots and twisting the spiral pattern into shape. When he handed it back to Keith, it more closely resembled a proper bracelet.

“There,” Lance said. “At least now it’s straight.”

Keith let out a snort. “That makes one of us.”

Lance froze for a moment, the bracelet dangling between his fingers, before bursting out in laughter. “Oh my god, Mullet,” he said, chuckling. “If I knew you were this funny a week ago, I would’ve spent less time avoiding you.”

“You were avoiding me?” Keith asked, and he tried not to let hurt seep into his voice.

Lance blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, well, I kinda sorta thought you hated me?”

“Oh.”

Keith knew he came off a bit standoffish, but he hadn’t realized exactly how his Gay Panic must have looked from the outside. He really hadn’t meant to hurt the guy’s feelings, or seem like he didn’t like Lance specifically. His brand of hatred was of the more general, misanthropic type.

“You could also maybe blame it on my being intimidated by Shirogane good looks.”

“Actually,” Keith said, eyes shifting awkwardly to the floor, “my last name is Kogane. Shiro’s mom is my aunt.”

“Oh for fu--,” Lance caught himself before finishing that word, thwacking the heel of his hand to his forehead. “See! This is what I mean! I keep messing up around you. _¿Cual es mi problema?_ ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith said, meeting Lance’s gaze, allowing a half-smile to creep up on his face. “It’s just my level four tragic backstory.”

A soft smile broke across Lance’s face. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, surprising himself. “We’re friends.”

Lance nodded, setting aside errant pieces of string and his finished bracelets, and stood up. He brushed off his hands before holding one out to Keith.

Keith took it and let himself be pulled up, unable to ignore the surprising softness of Lance’s strong grip.

“Now that we’re formally friends,” Lance said, dropping Keith’s hand, “I’m inviting you to the official, exclusive, invite-only solstice bonfire.”

“...a solstice bonfire?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Kind of a long story, but yeah. On Friday, from about seven until whenever. It’ll just be a few of us--Hunk and Pidge for sure, and I think Allura and Coran are going to come this year. Oh, and of course Shiro. There’s gonna be drinks, we’ll be down by the beach.” Lance shrugged, but Keith thought there might’ve been something like hope in his eyes. “It’ll be fun. You should come.”

Had Lance asked him even three days ago, Keith was sure his answer would have been an immediate no. But that was before Keith had learned how kind Hunk was. How sharp and witty Pidge was. And how infuriatingly charming Lance was.

Keith had done his best to stay distant, to put in his lonesome week of ‘trying’ in order to appease Shiro before leaving like he always did. But somehow, something about Arus needled its way under his skin. It might have been the ocean breeze, the tall palms, or maybe, just maybe, it was the people. He could see how loving this place could be easy.

Keith smiled shyly. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Lance asked, his face lighting up.

Keith simply nodded.

“Awesome!” Lance threw an excited fist into the air. “It’s gonna be great, I promise.”

Lance started leading Keith to the door, a hand on his back half-pushing him. “Alright you get out of here before the kids stop being adorable and start asking you why. You’ve helped enough and you’re not even getting paid.”

Keith looked back at Lance in confusion. “Why what?”

Lance gave a long-suffering sigh, but Keith saw the sparkle in his eye. “Oh man, to be that innocent.”

“Mr. Lance,” Sam piped up from behind them, “why is Mr. Keith leaving?”

“Oh quiznak,” Lance muttered. “Now you’ve done it.”

With one last friendly shove, Lance pushed Keith out the door.

“Go. Save yourself. I’ll see you on Friday.”

Keith watched as the door swung closed. “See you on Friday,” he said, softly. He looked on as Lance turned back to the kids, clapping his hands and gathering them in a circle.

He reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the sight, turning back and walking through the back exit of the resort. Oddly enough, he found himself really looking forward to Friday. That the thought of sticking around until then didn’t scare Keith should’ve been the first warning sign, but maybe the heat was getting to him, because he found that he didn’t really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish for this chapter:  
> -Me rompes el corazón [You’re breaking my heart]  
> -No soy un niño [I’m not a child]  
> -Eso es tan tierno [That is so cute]  
> -Y todos estos pescadores odian a los tiburones, y algunas personas cortan sus aletas y las usan en sopa de aleta de tiburón y luego los devuelven al mar, pero no pueden nadar por que les cortaron sus aletas y eso es super malo y por eso necesito protegerlos, pero no puedo protegerlos a todos, y las personas siguen teniéndolos miedo, y ellos si muerden cosas pero no es su culpa que estén al tope de la cadena alimenticia [And all these fishermen hate sharks and some people just cut off their fins and use them in sharkfin soup and then throw them back but they can’t swim because their fins are cut off and that’s really bad and that’s why I need to protect them, but I can’t protect them all, and people will still be scared of them, and they do bite things but it’s not their fault they’re at the top of the food chain]  
> -Los tiburones viven en el agua [Sharks live in water]  
> -Sr. Lance ¿Puedo tener otro jugo? [Mr. Lance, can I have another juice?]  
> -¿Qué se dice? [What do you say?]  
> -Sr. Lance ¿Podemos tener las cosas para colorear? [Mr. Lance, can we have the coloring supplies?]  
> -¿Puedo escuchar un por favor? [Can I hear a please?]  
> -¿Cual es mi problema? [What is wrong with me?]
> 
> Writing Process Shenanigans!  
> Dani, thinking about volleyball too much: Yo that is such a good fucking sound. Like when a serve SOUNDS good? Hhmmmmm that’s good shit. [Jenna will know what I mean]  
> Jenna: (jenna do kno what u mean)
> 
> Olivia, after writing Lance crying over sharks: I just really love sharks, okay????? LET ME LIVE (shark week may officially be over but it’s never over in my heart)
> 
> Dani: OH OH OH OH OH. Do we still wanna do that thing where Lance assumes Keith’s last name is Shirogane because brothers and Keith’s like oh actually it’s Kogane and Lance is like SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN I KEEP FUCKING UP GOD DAMNIT but with less swearing because children  
> Olivia: And keith’s like “Nah, it’s just a level four backstory” and winks and then dies inside  
> Dani: NBOREHJBNAOERARNAAOEGnrokpbKERMNBAOTKRNOTMAD yes
> 
> Jelly (Dani’s roommate’s cat): Rt5555554  
> Dani: Aaaaaaaand that was the cat. She fucking turned on spotify too bAD KITTY HOW  
> Olivia: AMAZING. GOOD KITTY.


	5. Everyone Loves NatGeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance soldiers on, Pidge and Hunk been knew, and more than one thing is set aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! We’re alive! So sorry about the delay. One of us got a job and the other one literally is moving across the country as we speak, so it got a little bit crazy. This chapter was also a beast to write, but we’re hoping the content makes up for the wait. Just in case that’s not quite enough to make you forgive us, we got you a gift--this is our longest chapter yet!
> 
> Also, small announcement: since the school year is back at it again with the demands on our personal lives (read: white vans), chapters will most likely start to slow down a little to our originally planned monthly updates. Some of us have a master’s thesis to write and a PhD program to start… Hint, it’s us. We have these things. Help us. 
> 
> Eternal love and gratitude to our beta Jenna ([invisiblink](http://www.invisiblink.tumblr.com)), and our translator Dee ([Nonbinary_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Queen) or @[bondingrazzledazzletime](http://www.bondingrazzledazzletime.tumblr.com)). They are pure and good, and we don’t deserve them u_u <3
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> Tightrope by Walk The Moon  
> Shell Suite by Chad Valley  
> Undertow by Panama
> 
> TW: recreational drug use, implied/reference homophobia (both towards the end)
> 
> [NOW THERE'S ART](http://artistic-snachel.tumblr.com/post/181227863586/a-recent-commission-i-did-for-snowthunder-and)  
> This goes with a scene at the end of the chapter so spoiler alert for new readers!

“So that was a tequila sunrise, a Long Island iced tea, two vodka tonics with lime, and an order of pretzel bites. Did I get it all?” Lance skimmed his eyes over the gaggle of girls lounging across pool recliners before him, wondering if it was 4 o’clock yet.

The girls all exchanged looks, nodding to each other like covert agents.

“I think that was it,” one said, a coy smile playing at her overly glossed lips.

Lance tucked his order pad into his back pocket. “Alright, I’ll put that right in.”

When he reached the bar to relay the order to Hunk, Lance draped himself over the counter dramatically. “Shoot me,” Lance muttered.

Hunk continued to mix drinks calmly. “Why this time?”

“I think I have another ‘Oh, we forgot to ask’ group.” Lance flicked away a crumb from beside his face.

“Uh oh, which one?”

“Group of four. Two blondes, a brunette, and a redhead.”

“Yikes,” Hunk said.

“Yikes,” Lance agreed, sliding the order pad across the counter.

As Hunk mixed together the orders, Lance stared out across the pool deck, eyes half-lidded against the glare of the sun. Everything felt extra saturated today, the heat just a bit too hot, the sun just a bit too bright. If he was feeling this way now, in late June, Lance shuddered to think what the next two months would bring as it only got hotter.

A tray of glasses and a plate of pretzels slid into Lance’s line of sight far sooner than he would have liked. He shifted to look up at Hunk, cheek still pressed against the bar top.

“Do I have to?”

“Seeing as it’s your job, yeah kinda.”

Lance groaned and peeled his face away from the laminated wood. “Hunk, I thought you were my friend.”

“I am, buddy,” he said, reaching across the counter to place a reassuring hand on Lance’s shoulder. “And as your friend who doesn’t want you to get fired, I’m saying you have to.”

Lance scoffed, but picked up the tray. “Allura would never.”

Hunk shrugged. “Maybe not, but do you really wanna test that theory?”

Lance gave an overdramatic sigh. “No…”

“Good,” Hunk said, making shoo-ing motions with his hands. “Now go do the thing you’re actually paid to do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance said.

He made his way back to the group of girls and dropped off their order quickly, doing his best to escape before they coul--

“Oh, we forgot to ask!” one piped up excitedly behind Lance’s back.

Suppressing an eyeroll, Lance turned with what he hoped was his ‘customer service’ smile in place. It was going to be a long afternoon.

The heat and the surprisingly sizeable crowd drew the rest of the day out in a sluggish procession of drink orders and not-so-subtle, very bad flirting. Not even Hunk’s presence at the bar could help temper Lance’s suffering, and halfway through the day Lance found himself constantly scanning the pool deck for a familiar tuft of white hair and a messy mullet. He’d managed to catch a glimpse of Keith earlier that morning, leaving the gym in a sweat-soaked tank top that left little to the imagination, but he’d been in too much of a hurry to even say hi, let alone appreciate the sight.

Truth be told, he could honestly say that he missed the pair of brothers. Their antics made his shifts on the pool deck more bearable, offering Lance much needed respites from some of the more demanding resort guests. Shiro he had always gotten along with and considered a good friend--someone he really looked up to, and that he could talk easily with. And now that he had started to understand Keith’s particular brand of humor, he could actually talk to the guy without feeling like he was walking through a minefield. The two brothers had become a much needed balm against the monotony of Lance’s days without him really realizing it, and their absence was made all the more apparent by the day’s resounding mundanity.

That, and Lance was just dying for the chance to call Shiro “Kashi Go Lean Crunch.”

By the time 4 o’clock rolled around, Lance all but ran to the staff room before yet another guest could flag him down, waving apologetically to Hunk as he escaped. He swapped out his shoes, grabbed his bag, and booked it out to Old Blue.

Turning his key in the ignition, Lance felt the comforting rumble of the engine, and he pulled out of the parking lot and set off down the long beach drive. The familiar procession of manicured resorts gave way to sets of obscenely large houses, left empty since their owners fled the summer heat. It always took an absurd amount of time to get off the island, but Lance never minded. He usually took it as an opportunity to wind down after his shifts, letting the Top 40 station blast alongside the A/C.

Today, however, he left the music off and opted to roll his windows down instead. He needed to clear his head, and let the thoughts he had been pushing aside all day at work come out from the corners of his mind.

His thoughts, much like the drive, were routine, etching well-worn pathways in his mind. He overturned every event that had happened that day, noting the monotony of it all, how nothing had been different than any other day. Lance knew that he tended to run in circles--work, friends, home, work, friends, home--but lately the repetitiveness of it all was coming into sharp focus.

Such invariability had always been a source of comfort for him, something to latch onto when everything else in life had seemed just a bit too much. So why was it suddenly feeling like it wasn’t enough? Like something was missing?

He’d always wanted more--wanted to _be_ more--and Lance could remember thinking that he finally had his opportunity to go for it back when he had turned eighteen. As it had turned out, however, wanting more and being able to handle it were two very different things. Spiteful professors and overburdened course loads, Lance soon found out, were pretty detrimental to one’s dreams. It had resulted in him dropping out of school, and it had very nearly kept him from going back at all.

Yet, Lance later realized that his initial attempt was only round one and, out of spite more than anything else, he managed to overcome his naysayers-- _fuck you, Iverson_ \--and his bachelor’s was finally within his grasp. Now, if he could just finish his thesis...

When he had first settled on his topic--public perceptions of global conservation efforts--Lance was slightly nervous that he had bitten off more than he could chew. That is, until he had managed to land an internship at the local aquarium--Mote Marine Laboratory--every Monday. This past Monday had been especially productive, and for once Lance was actually feeling optimistic about his work. He’d just gotten approval for his interactive conservation exhibit, a key part of his thesis, and the field data coming in from the local conservators at Mote were looking extremely promising. There were more turtle nests than in previous years, and manatee numbers were on the rise.

Despite the abundance of information at his disposal, however, Lance was still concerned about how he was going to display all of this in a way that any age group could understand. It was relatively easy to get little kids excited about saving dolphins and turtles, but to get the teenagers and adults to actually _care_ was a whole other challenge. That, and the adults who did actually care couldn’t ever give much.

An entire town of rich white retirees, and they still struggled to keep even the mammal rescue open.

Lance sighed and put his blinker on, turning off the island. The large houses and well-maintained bridges faded from view, giving way to low, squat strip malls and outdated signs with bad clip art. Every part of the drive was suffocatingly familiar, from the palm tree debris to the little old ladies who couldn’t see above their steering wheels. Lance couldn’t help but to be grateful that it wasn’t season, as the drive home would have been twice as long with the increased traffic on and off the island. Not to mention, work itself was always calmer this time of the year. Plus, during the summer months he got to take over the daycare.

It wasn’t always the easiest--a room full of hyperactive children between five and eight could hardly ever be called a cake walk. Especially when about half of them were bilingual or still learning English, and the other half were not. Fights over crayon colors could get pretty confusing at times for some of the kids.

But, Lance was still grateful to Allura for letting him take on the job during the summer. The shift from the pool deck was usually a welcome one. The kids were a handful but they were a bright spot in Lance’s day.

The air conditioning was also a definite bonus. The summer could be downright brutal.

Even with the added daycare duties, however, Lance’s job still took on a similar kind of monotony more often than not. The guests didn’t change all that much--large parties of bachelorette Barbies notwithstanding--and after three years of working at Altea, Lance could recognize most of their regulars. Even Shiro was becoming something of a staple.

Maybe that was why Keith’s sudden appearance hit Lance like a ton of bricks, he realized. Florida wasn’t exactly known for its youthful population, and Arus’s demographic was older than most towns. So, a cute guy, around Lance’s age, coming to visit his equally attractive brother was definitely something to be excited about. Especially when said cute guy was gayer than the Top Gun volleyball montage.

Since becoming more comfortable with his sexuality, Lance had never been one to keep himself from enjoying a good view every now and again (read: always), but his attraction to Keith was veering into dangerous territory. It was one thing to admire a nice set of abs poolside, but another thing entirely to see the guy make lopsided bracelets with little Sam. To say that Lance’s heart stuttered a bit at that was the understatement of the year. Sam could be a little shy and awkward at times, so seeing her latch onto Keith like she did just about put Lance into cardiac arrest. She must have sensed one of her own kind.

Lance checked his mirror to switch lanes and caught himself smiling.

No. Nope. Nuh-uh. Like Lance said, dangerous territory.

Keith was a distraction from normalcy--a very welcome distraction, to be fair, but one that Lance couldn’t afford to get caught up in. He was a dangerous attraction, a shiny, new diversion, but those were always the kind that didn’t last and that Lance couldn’t chase. In the end, Keith would leave and Lance would stay and that was just how things worked. There was no point in starting something that came with a pre-set expiration date.

Not that he was going to start anything anyway. He didn’t need the complications that anything more than friendship came with right now. Lance had enough going on between work, his internship, constructing his thesis, and soon, getting ready for his senior year. He just wanted a calm, fun summer before he was thrown back into his last year of college.

That was part of the reason why Lance was so looking forward to this year’s bonfire. Was he a little extra excited because Keith had agreed to come? Sure! After all, the more the merrier right? Lance could--would--keep his distance, and maintain this new friendship. All the flushed faces and warmth in his chest were just hormones and heat. It would pass.

Lance turned into his neighbourhood, the giant oak trees cloaked in Spanish moss on either side of the street engulfing his car in shadow momentarily as he passed by them. The drastic change in lighting had Lance squinting as he entered the full force of the sun again. He pulled Old Blue into his driveway and cut the engine, letting the drone of cicadas replace the car’s rumbling. Lance lolled his head back against the headrest and simply sat for a moment, working up the energy to once more thrust himself back into the banality of routine and home.

He always consoled himself with the fact that things as they were now wouldn't last forever. The thought that he was so close to finally getting his degree, and moving on to the next phase of his life helped push the blur of hazy, mass-produced days onward. Hopefully he would be able to get a full-time job--maybe at Mote since he already had an in as an intern--and eventually his own place, probably somewhere close to his family. This was the goal Lance had been chasing after one semester, one tip, one tour of clueless, landlocked families from Ohio at a time. A goal but not a dream, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. Lance tamped down the thought quickly.

Certainly, Lance had entertained the notion of going elsewhere, of venturing beyond the confines of Arus and his family to parts previously unknown. But when it came to actually visualizing himself doing it...well that was a different story.

It was hard to imagine a life outside of the boundaries he had known for so long, especially when he had never really been given a reason to go. Arus wasn't that bad, and Lance knew that he would miss his family something fierce if he ever left. He could be happy enough here. Life could be enough here.

Distractions--no matter how alluring they were with their moody, indigo eyes and messy black hair--just complicated things, and threatened to blow wide open the comfortable bubble Lance had constructed for himself.

With a sigh, Lance gave the driver side door a forceful shove, pushing it open. His thoughts still spun maddeningly around in his head, following the same rabbit holes they always did, but Lance pushed them aside once more. He’d come back to them another day. One when a certain pair of violet eyes didn’t continuously make intrusive reappearances.

Lance pulled open the front door and let the sights and smells of home crash into him. Then Ines quite literally crashed into him, her hair pulled tight into a bun atop her head, and a frilly tulle skirt around her waist.

“Lance!” she exclaimed excitedly. “We started doing pirouettes today!”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, waddling through the door with his sister still clinging to his hips. He noted his mamá’s shoes weren’t on the usual mat, but Veronica’s were. Lance peeked around the corner and caught sight of his older sister lounging on the patio, book in hand.  “Why don’t you tell me about it while I start cooking?”

“Okay!” Ines sing-songed and bounded off towards the kitchen, throwing in little twirls and pliés as she went.

Lance shucked off his flip-flops and followed Nessie, a small smile playing at his lips. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the glass door next to the kitchen and Veronica lifter her head, sending Lance a warm smile and, of all things, a peace sign. Lance snorted and turned back to where Ines was animatedly retelling the trials and triumphs of the day’s dance camp.

His job, his internship, and his school all might have been too familiar and stagnant and any number of other suffocating things, but he’d be damned if his family didn’t make up for it.

 

~^~^~^~

 

The next day flowed much like the first, passing in a slow jumble of heavy chairs, sandy shoes, and complicated drink orders. Lance had tried not feel Shiro and Keith’s absence again too keenly, but he was really starting to miss those two. And he definitely meant both of them. The two together. Not just the handsome snarky one with the mullet.

Eventually, four o’clock rolled around, and Lance made his escape.

He had just closed his locker in the staff room, horrid work shoes tucked away until tomorrow, when his phone lit up with a series of texts full of prayer hand and heart emojis.

 

 **Sorry Mamí** **[4:07 pm]**

_I hate to ask but could you come by the shop tonight?_

 

 **Sorry Mamí** **[4:07 pm]**

_I had to send Ricky home early and I’m up to my ears in oil changes._

 

 **Sorry Mamí** **[4:08 pm]**

_If you’re too tired though say so, it’s okay <3 _

Lance didn’t even hesitate in typing out his response.

 

 **Lancelot** **[4:08 pm]**

_B there in 30 (･ω･)b_

 

 **Sorry Mamí** **[4:09 pm]**

_You are the best son in the world <3 <3 _

 

Lance smiled, pocketing his phone, and headed out to the parking lot, waving to Shay as he passed the front desk. He hopped up into Old Blue, cranked the stereo and the A/C, and pulled onto the main road.

It normally only took about twenty minutes to reach his mother’s shop from the resort, but Lance detoured quickly to grab them both coffees, sensing a long night ahead. His mamá rarely asked for help from Lance these days, her shop having grown enough in the last few years to support a healthy payroll, so when she did actually reach out Lance knew it was because she really needed it.

He parked Old Blue in his usual spot on the side of the building next to his mamá’s vintage Camaro, the glossy purple paint sparking in the low-set sun. Every bay door was open and Lance could hear the large fans working to push the hot air out of the garage before he even entered the space. He dodged around cars and tool carts, shouting hellos to the mechanics as he searched for his mamá, coffees in hand.

Lance finally saw her--well, half of her--tucked underneath a Toyota Corolla, foot tapping to the music leaking out of her coverall pockets. Lance squatted next to the car and tilted his head low to one side, catching sight of his mother, her face set in concentration.

“ _Chao, Mam í_,” he greeted, taking a sip from his drink.

Elena turned as much as she could beneath the car and smiled brightly. “Leandro! _Gracias a Dios que es_ \--is that coffee?”

Lance hummed. “Who’s your favorite child?”

“You. Definitely you,” Elena said, rolling the creeper out and sitting up. Lance held out the paper cup, and she took it gratefully, barely stopping to check if it was cool before taking a large sip.

“God fucking bless you, Lance,” she said, sighing.

“That bad, huh?” Lance asked, actually taking a look around the shop and noticing the large number of cars and small number of mechanics. There were even a few cars parked outside, still waiting to be brought in.

“You have no idea. It’s like everyone’s horoscopes told them that this week was the perfect time to wreck their cars. I even called up Tess to ask if Mercury was in retrograde.”

Lance laughed. “Maybe it’s just a full moon.”

“That too.” Elena rolled back under the Corolla, taking the coffee with her. “Now put on some coveralls and get to work. That Nissan next to me needs an oil change.”

Lance smiled and rolled his eyes. “Aye aye, _capitán_.”

He wove his way to the back where he knew his mom kept the extra aprons and coveralls, setting his stuff down at her desk as he went.

It had been ages since he worked in the shop, but despite the recent expansion, the place still felt the same. The smell of oil and gasoline were a heady perfume that permeated the air, and tool carts littered the alleyways between bays, but Lance could navigate it all with his eyes closed if he needed to. He had worked here for a while, right after he had decided to take a step back from school, but Lance had been around cars his whole life, courtesy of one Elena Ramira Sanchez. And although Lance wasn’t nearly as talented as his mother, who was a certifiable machine-whisperer, he was pretty handy for basic maintenance.

Once Lance was properly outfitted, he headed over to the car in question, pulling out the clipboard and getting to work.

“So,” Elena said, voice muffled under the Toyota, “you excited about the bonfire? Tess said Hunk already started baking cupcakes this morning.”

Lance sighed wistfully as he popped the Nissan’s hood. “If Hunk wasn’t so headband over heels for Shay, I’d marry that boy. Did I ever tell you what his latest flavor was?”

“No, what?”

“Caramel apple cobbler.”

Elena rolled out from under the Corolla, her eyes dead serious as she locked gazes with Lance. “We may have to get rid of Shay.”

Lance gave a little chuckle as he leaned over to twist the oil cap off. “You’re a stronger person than I am if you can even _think_ about hurting that ray of sunshine.”

Elena pursed her lips and slid back under the car. “Well, I’ve already adopted Hunk in my heart so I suppose you don’t have to get married for him to be my son.” A series of clanks echoed from beneath the Corolla. “If only Tess and Tami would share him more.”

“Let’s face it,” Lance said, setting aside the cap and grabbing an oil pan, “the whole world could use a little more of Hunk.”

Elena hummed in agreement. “So, is Shay going to the bonfire then?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’ve been trying to get Hunk to invite her for ages, but he just keeps chickening out. I almost invited her, but he’s determined to ask her himself.”

“And I’m assuming he hasn’t yet?”

“No,” Lance said grumpily. “He says he’s just waiting for the right time, but I’m pretty sure he’s just nervous. I told him, you just gotta go for it.”

Elena gave a good-natured huff. “That was never a problem for you, was it?”

Lance smiled. No it wasn’t.

“I assume the rest of the usual crew is going though?”

“Yup!” Lance said, claiming his own creeper and sliding under the Nissan. “Pidge, Shiro, Hunk. We even got Allura and Coran to agree to come again this year. Oh, and Keith,” he tacked on excitedly.

“That’s a new name,” Elena noted. “Who’s Keith?”

“Shiro’s younger brother.” Lance unscrewed the drain plug and let the oil reservoir empty into a bin. “He’s visiting for--well, I’m not really sure how long, probably just the summer, but he’s here visiting Shiro.”

“Is he cute?”

“Who, Shiro? Uh, duh. You’ve met him.”

“You know that’s not who I meant.”

Lance sighed, messy black hair and a pouty mouth flashing through his mind. “Yeah, he’s cute.”

The sounds from beneath the Corolla stopped. “I see,” Elena said quietly.

Lance shifted his head and looked across the garage bay at his mamá, catching her eye before she quickly resumed her work.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, _mijo_. Just be careful.”

Lance slid out from under the Nissan, draggin the now full oil pan with him. “What do you mean?”

Elena sighed, rolling her own creeper from beneath the Corolla, and sat up. “I know you, Leandro. I know that tone you use when you’ve got your eye on someone.”

“I don’t have a tone,” Lance said, crossing his arms.

“Yes, you do,” Elena said. “And if that weren’t enough, you’ve got that dreamy look in your eyes. You like him.”

Lance scoffed, suddenly very interested with a gas stain by his shoe. “Sure, _Mam_ _í_.”

The scrape of roller wheels on concrete echoed in the garage, and then Elena was in front of Lance, having wheeled herself across the bay. She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other beneath his chin, raising it until Lance could look nowhere else but his mother’s face.

“Leandro,” she said, face gentle, but eyes fierce. “I don’t say this to attack you or because I don’t think you can handle yourself, but because I love you and hate to see you hurt. You’ve got a lot of love to give, but you’ve always given it to things that are far too fleeting. Flowers, goldfish, flighty resort girls. You said it yourself, you don’t know how long he’s staying. I’m not telling you not to go after the things you want, but just…”

“Be careful,” Lance finished quietly.

His mother nodded, a sad smile on her face. “You’ve got a glass heart, Leandro. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but be sure you give it to someone who will treat it gently.”

Lance wanted to be mad. He wanted to protest loudly that of course he wouldn’t start something that would only lead to heartbreak. But he knew his mamá was right. Experience had taught him too well how easy, how dangerous it was to trust someone who had no intention of staying.

Lance cleared his throat and conjured up a smile, trying to alleviate the heavy atmosphere. “Maybe we really do need to get rid of Shay then. Hunk might be my best hope.”

“I’d lock him down while you still have a chance,” Elena said with a playful smirk. “You know that boy is going places. It takes a special kind of man to make Gordon Ramsay cry.”

“To be fair, we all cried when he made that soufflé right for the first time.”

Lance swore his mamá almost teared up right then and there. “It tasted like clouds, Lance. _Clouds_.”

“It really did,” Lance said, dramatically wiping at a dry cheek.

The rest of the night passed in gallons of oil, cups of coffee, and companionable chatting. Lance told cute stories from Monday about the manatees at the aquarium, and Elena spilled the tea on some of her more demanding customers.

Lance wouldn’t necessarily call himself a car person, but he had certainly missed these late nights in the garage with his mamá. Repetitiveness aside, he liked his job at Altea--some days he even loved it--but there was something just so satisfying about the car work that left Lance feeling sated and accomplished. It was the same feeling he got every summer in the field setting up turtle nest markers, or doing the monthly estuary clean-up. The tangibility of hard work was much better appreciated in things like a previously busted engine returning to life, or a baby turtle taking its first plunge into the Gulf. Wiping dried alcohol off tables and carrying empty glasses on a tray didn’t have quite the same feeling of satisfaction.

When Lance and Elena both finished their last car, it was pushing 10 o’clock and their earlier espresso shots were wearing off quickly. Elena had sent the other mechanics home hours ago, so it was just mother and son in the echoey garage. Lance dropped the hood of the Kia he had just finished tuning up, and stretched up and backwards, feeling gratifying pops all along his spine.

He inserted the car keys back into their designated plastic sleeve, along with all the customer’s paperwork, and tossed it onto the large ‘finished’ pile on his mother’s desk.

Elena stepped next to Lance, throwing down her own plastic packet, and looped an arm around his waist, squeezing him in close.

“Thank you again, _mijo_ ,” she said, trying to her best to stifle a yawn. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Lance draped an arm across her shoulders, returning the embrace. “ _No hay problema, mam í.” _

Elena yawned for real then, the tiredness winning out. “ _Oh Dios,_ let’s get out of here. I need a glass of wine and sleep.”

“Kin.”

Elena snorted. “You are so weird.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Elena shook her head and lead them out of the garage, smiling fondly. “That I do, _mi amor._ That I do.”

 

~^~^~^~

 

Friday at Altea was excruciating.

Somehow, the guests were even needier than usual and still the morning dripped into the afternoon at the rate of molasses. Not only was Lance fidgety to get out of there so he could go bonfire shopping with Hunk and Pidge, but none of his favorite guests had made an appearance poolside all day. He tried to console himself with the fact that he’d definitely see Shiro and Keith later that night, but the waiting just made the day feel even slower.

By the time it was three-thirty, the resort had begun to empty out and Lance was even more restless than usual, finding it absolutely impossible to stay still. He, Hunk, and Pidge had all planned to take a trip to Publix and the liquor store to grab some last minute bonfire supplies right after their shifts ended at four, so of course the last half-hour was bound to be the worst part of the day.

“Lance,” came Allura’s voice from the back entrance of the resort.

Lance set down his most recent tray of empty glasses at the bar and skipped up to his boss. “‘Sup, ‘Lura?”

Allura eyed where Lance was tapping out an uneven rhythm on his leg, and he could tell that she knew he was just itching to escape. “Things are looking a bit slow, so I was wondering if you and Hunk wanted to go a bit early.”

“Yes, please,” Lance said immediately, not feeling the least bit guilty for how quickly he agreed. Allura wasn’t lying--the pool deck was almost deserted, with only the ever-classy Mrs. Robinson there to wink at him suggestively while he tried not to vomit.

Allura laughed and gave Lance a good-natured smile. “Try not to seem so eager. I might think you don’t like working here.”

“And deprive myself of showering you with praise every day? I’m offended you’d think so low of me.”

“Stop being a helpless flirt and go grab Hunk,” Allura said, pulling the door open, the breeze from the A/C ruffling her impeccable curls.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lance said, giving her a mock salute and walking back to the bar where Hunk was polishing already sparkling glasses. “Pack it up, Hunkules! Allura is setting us free.”

Hunk sagged in relief. “Oh bless up. I think I polished the same glass four times now.”

“Have you heard anything from Pidge?”

“Guys, really?”

Lance and Hunk both started, whipping their heads around to stare at the end of bar where Pidge was perched on a stool, one knee up, the other leg swinging above the ground. Her head was resting casually on her hand, purple bracelet snug on her wrist.

“What the quiznak?!” Lance shouted. “Where did you even come from?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “I’ve been here the whole time, asshole.”

“No no no,” Lance said, wagging a finger. “You were so not there before. You popped out of your little gremlin hole, didn’t you?”

Hunk tapped a finger against his chin. “My vote’s on teleporter, actually.”

Pidge grinned, and Lance involuntarily shuddered. He honestly wouldn’t put it past the tricksy little hobbit.

“Think what you like,” Pidge said, waving them off. “You’ll never learn my true secrets.”

Lance shook his head. “I am so glad you’re on our side.”

“Bold of you to assume she’s on anyone’s side but her own,” Hunk said as he untied his apron, folding it neatly and making his way out from behind the bar.

Pidge hopped off the stool, straightened the straps on her denim overalls, and pulled her ponytail tight. “Alright, let’s go lesbians. We’ve got shit to do.”

The three made their way to the staff room where Lance and Hunk changed out of their uniforms. Starchy polos abandoned for loose cotton tees, they grabbed their things and booked it to Hunk’s yellow mini-van.

Pidge managed to snag shot-gun with a completely uncalled for and illegal flat-tire maneuver, so Lance spent the first two minutes of the ride to the store pouting in the backseat.

“Oh come on,” Pidge said, kicking her feet up on the dash and plugging the aux cord into her phone. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

“Hmph,” Lance huffed maturely, crossing his arms and staring out the window.

“That is so sad. Siri, play Havana.”

“Damnit, Pidge,” Lance groaned. “Let me sulk, you know I can’t resist--ah, fuck! _Half of my heart is in Havana ooh-na-na!_ ”

“Aaaaand there he goes,” Hunk said, but he had a smile on his face.

What was Lance supposed to do, _not_ sing along with Camila Cabello’s mediocre crooning?

“What is it about this song that makes it feel like it’s ten minutes long?” Hunk asked as he turned off the island and headed down the main road.

“Pretty sure it’s because there’s nothing interesting about the song at all, it’s just the exact same chorus over and over again,” Pidge said, queueing up the next couple of songs.

“I refuse to hear this slander,” Lance said. “This song is a bop and you know it.”

“Is it a bop though?” Hunk asked. “I feel like it’s more of a groove.”

Pidge hummed. “No, Never Gonna Give You Up is a groove. This feels more like a jam.”

“Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a jam,” Hunk said.

“I told you, it’s a bop,” Lance said, bobbing his head to the beat to prove his point.

“Hmmm doubtful,” Pidge said. “But you know what is a bop though?” She hit the next song.

The telltale sounds of Ariana Grande’s “Into You” filled the car, and Hunk and Lance whooped. Pidge laughed, and turned up the music as they shouted the lyrics so loud that the old man in the truck next to them gave them dirty looks.

All too soon, they turned into the parking lot of Publix, and Hunk cut the engine, silencing the music.

Lance slid the van door open, and shielded his eyes from the bright sun as he looked up at the cheery green sign. He grabbed a nearby, errant cart, throwing the child seat down and patting it.

“Come on, Pidge. Hop in.”

Pidge gave him an unimpressed look. “Of the three of us, you’re the most deserving of the child’s seat.”

“You know,” Lance said with a grin, “you’re probably right.”

Without warning, he clambered into the main basket of the cart, his too-long limbs sticking out like haphazard needles in a pincushion.

Hunk just sighed and grabbed another cart, pushing it too towards the main entrance. “If anyone asks, I don’t know you.”

Lance turned and gave Pidge his best puppy dog eyes, pushing his lips out into an impressive pout. She scoffed, but walked over and began pushing the cart after Hunk.

They wandered up and down the aisles, pulling things off their list and also whatever else looked good, which was how they ended up with three different kinds of Cheez-Its, a couple gallons of Hawaiian Punch, and two boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. Lance constructed a fort around himself with the boxed goods, while Hunk’s cart was used for the more dentable and crushable items.

“Remind me again,” Hunk said, holding two bags of chips. “What does Allura prefer? Salt and vinegar or sour cream and onion?”

Pidge rested both arms across her cart’s handlebar. “Hunk, those are your favorites. Allura likes barbecue.”

“Oh, right,” Hunk drew out, but dropped both bags into his cart.

Lance reached over the edge of the cart and snagged the black Lay’s bag, tossing it at Hunk. “I got you, buddy.”

“Alright, so,” Hunk began ticking off his fingers, “Allura is barbecue, Coran has no preference, Pidge you got those fancy Tzatziki ones, Lance you’ll eat anything.”

“Guilty.”

“What about Shiro? Anyone know?”

Pidge smiled and it raised the hairs on the back of Lance’s neck. “Jalapeño.”

“You sure?” Hunk asked.

“Jalapeño,” she repeated, dead serious.

“If you say so,” Hunk said, though doubt and a touch of fear were in his eyes. “Oh! What about Keith? Lance you said he’s coming right? Any thoughts?”

Lance pulled at a loose thread at the cuff of his shorts. “How should I know?”

“Well you have spent the most time with him out of the three of us,” Hunk said.

“Not to mention you’re super fucking gay for him,” Pidge deadpanned.

Lance felt his cheeks heat up. “Oh, and that automatically means I know his prefered chip flavor?”

Hunk shrugged, snagging a container of frosted animal crackers. “Hey, it could. It’s like, one of those important pre-dating questions. Right up there with ‘are you a serial killer’?”

Lance scoffed. “I’m not trying to date Keith you guys.”

“Could’ve fooled us,” Pidge said, rocking the cart back and forth absentmindedly.

“Yeah man,” Hunk continued, “you looked like a kicked puppy all week at the resort and the only thing that’s been different is Keith and Shiro haven’t been in.”

“What? They help the time pass faster.”

“Oh, and don’t forget,” Pidge added, following Hunk to the next aisle, “the car ride back on Saturday.”

“What about the car ride?” Lance asked aghast, turning at the shoulders to look back at Pidge.

“‘I like you, Keith’,” Pidge said in a questionable imitation of Lance’s voice.

“Oooh, she’s pulling out the deep receipts bro,” Hunk said over his shoulder.

Lance crossed his arms and sunk further into his box fortress. “You know, I came out to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now.”

“Hey,” Pidge said, shrugging, “we just call it like we see it.”

“Yeah, and we see you blushing like a sinner in church whenever he’s around.” Hunk noted.

“Oh, come on!” Lance exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “Seriously, I’m not trying to start anything with Keith. So I think he’s attractive--sue me. It won’t go anywhere, so there’s no point in pursuing it. Besides, you know how these things have gone before. It’s not worth it.”

Hunk and Pidge shared a look that Lance pretended he didn’t see. They both had been there for some of his more...notable disasters. Hunk had even brought him homemade ice cream, and Pidge...well, Lance wasn’t sure what Pidge did but somehow she’d locked his exes out of all his social media in a way that probably wasn’t legal. She had called it “Lance-proofing,” and it certainly had worked.

Lance could feel himself zoning out as his thoughts started to creep a little too close to those painful memories, and he felt a fist slowly clench around his heart.

“Hey, dumdum,” Pidge said, throwing a bag of tortilla chips at his face and effectively stopping his spiral. “Don’t think too hard. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Yeah, don’t overthink this one,” Hunk said, pushing the cart out of the clearly treacherous chip aisle.

“I’m not overthinking anything! He’s cute, but nothing’s gonna happen. It’s not like he likes me anyway,” Lance grumbled.

“Oh for fucks sake. Hunk. Explain it to him please.”

“Didn’t you say he saw you working in the daycare?” Hunk asked.

“Yeah.”

“He likes you.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “If that’s all it took, I’d be married to Allura by now.”

“I dunno, man,” Hunk said as he checked the ripeness of a couple tomatoes. “She looked about ready to kiss you when you said you could help.”

“Besides,” Pidge said, poking Lance in the shoulder, “you don’t actually know if he’s leaving.”

“Let’s review the facts, shall we?” Lance said, holding up a hand to count on his fingers. “One, Shiro never stays longer than three months. Two, Keith has looked ready to bolt since he got here. Three, there’s no way he’s interested in me, full stop.”

“Lance, for real?” Hunk struck a rather impressive mom pose beside a crate of avocados. “Those things are barely even connected and the third one you have no proof for.”

“Well, either way it doesn’t matter. Keith is kind of off-limits anyways.”

Pidge snorted derisively. “By what logic?”

“He’s Shiro’s brother for one thing. I don’t want to ruin any part of our friendship by going after his little brother. Plus he’s technically a resort guest and an old family friend of Allura… It’s just a bad idea, okay?”

A grape pelted Lance on the side of his head.

“Ow! Hunk what the heck?”

Hunk pointed a menacing finger at Lance. “You, are so self-destructive sometimes, you know that?”

Lance sunk lower against a box of Nilla Wafers. “Whatever. Can we just focus on the bonfire please? I’ve been a disaster bi for this long, another summer won’t kill me.”

Hunk looked as if he was about to protest further, but Pidge cut him off by tossing him an onion.

“Oh, let him learn for himself, Hunk. Sometimes you have to push the baby bird out of the nest.”

“Fine,” Hunk grumbled. “But you’re not off the hook,” he said with a pointed look at Lance.

Lance waved a flippant hand in his direction. “Yeah yeah, duly noted. Now can we get out of here already? We’ve got booze to buy and a fire to set up. Plus, I think this cart is cutting off circulation to my foot.”

“Okay, okay,” Hunk said, and Pidge started to push them towards the checkout.

“Wait!” Lance said, and they came to a screeching halt, the combo of inertia and shitty wheels making them swerve a bit.

“What?” Pidge barked out.

“Can we stop by the bakery? I wanna see if they’ll give me a free cookie.”

“You’re a fucking child,” Pidge said, but she shoved the cart in the direction of the cookie counter, where two older women looked on with amusement.

“If it gets me free food, I don’t care,” Lance muttered to Pidge before giving the ladies his most charming smile.

After sweet-talking the two counter ladies--whose names were Ethel and Rosie, Lance discovered--Pidge, Hunk, and Lance wheeled their way to the checkout, fresh-baked sugar cookies in hand.

It took some maneuvering, but Lance managed to extricate himself from the mountain of groceries as they loaded their haul onto the conveyor belt. Both the bagger and the cashier gave him a look that was probably disapproving, but Lance decided that they were just jealous. Or maybe they remembered him from that time he convinced Hunk, Pidge, and Veronica to have shopping cart jousts in the parking lot…

Oh no, the cashier was definitely giving him that squinty-eyed look.

“Hey Hunk,” Lance said quickly. “I’m gonna hop over next door and get the booze. You good here?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Hunk said absentmindedly as he continued to load food on the belt. “Just make sure you actually buy something other than three handles of tequila.”

“That was one time!” Lance said, throwing up his hands dramatically as he walked out the automatic doors.

He made the three-foot trek to the separate entrance labeled PUBLIX LIQUORS and walked inside.

The small space was covered wall-to-wall with liquor, from drain cleaner to top-shelf. Lance made his way to the tequila section and pulled down one mid-tier handle before walking over to the vodka section, and grabbing Pidge’s preferred sickly sweet green apple Smirnoff . He swiped a small-ish bottle of good gin for Shiro and Allura (because they were classy like that), and he was about to go to the checkout when he paused, staring at the bourbon section.

He wasn’t really sure why he did it, but he pulled one of the better brands off the shelf, adding it to his already impressive collection. For Coran, he reasoned, as he dumped his haul on the counter and pulled out his ID.

After having paid for the booze, bottles tucked into brown paper bags, Lance headed out to the van where Hunk and Pidge were loading up the snacks and a couple bags of ice. Looking at everything assembled together in the trunk, Lance had to admit it was a rather impressive haul.

Hunk sniffled a little, clutching a hand to his chest. “It’s-it’s beautiful.”

“Hunk, my man,” Lance said, patting his friend on the shoulder, “this might be our most successful bonfire yet.”

“It’s gonna be fucking lit,” Pidge said as she jumped up, pulling the trunk door closed.

“Was that a pun?” Lance asked, opening the passenger side door before Pidge could claim shotgun again.

“Mayhaps.” Pidge climbed into the backseat, and before Lance realized what was happening, she reached up and snagged the extra long aux cord.

“Hey, I was gonna DJ!” Lance said, trying to grab the cord.

“No way,” Pidge said. “You’ll just play Taylor Swift and nobody wants that shit.”

“What’s wrong with Taylor Swift?”

Pidge shook her head in disgust. “Besides everything?”

Lance gasped in offense, opening his mouth to argue but Pidge quickly pressed play and the deep bass lines of Elderbrook filled the van, silencing his protests. They drove the rest of the way to Hunk’s place jumping through Pidge’s eclectic music taste, bouncing from modern club beats, to 80s synth, to Japanese rock of all things.

“Where do you find this shit, Pidge?” Lance asked at one point.

“Get out of your American music bubble!” she simply shouted and reached up to crank the volume, belting out an impressive string of French rap.

Hunk pulled the van into his driveway and the three quickly clambered out, grabbing the fresh and refrigerated goods from the trunk. When they entered the house, the smell of incense and candles smacked Lance in the face. You’d think after thirteen years of friendship, Lance would’ve been used to the cloying scent of Hunk’s moms’ house, and yet…

“Hey kids!” Tess called from her spot on the floor. She was surrounded by Tarot cards arranged in a complicated pattern. “I take it the bonfire shopping was a success?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’ve got enough food to feed an army,” Lance said, putting the reusable bags on the counter and helping Hunk separate the produce from the other perishables.

“You’d feed an army three different kinds of Cheez-Its?” Tess asked, not looking up from the cards.

Lance let out a sound that definitely was not a screech and pointed an accusing finger at Hunk’s mom.

“How the _quiznak_ do you do that!”

Tess chuckled, her cloud of dark, tight curls bouncing with the movement. “Ancient Samoan secret.”

“You know, I wouldn’t put it past you,” Lance said. “If anyone’s unlocked ancient psychic powers, it’s you.”

“Lance,” Hunk called from the sink, “stop contemplating the inner workings of my mother’s psychic prowess and come chop these onions.”

“You just want to see me cry, don’t you?” Lance said even as he grabbed a knife and cutting board.

“That and I don’t trust Pidge with the knives.”

“Probably a good idea,” Pidge said from her perch on the couch. “I borrowed Matt’s butterfly knives one time and had to go the ER to get stitches on my pinky finger.”

“Speaking of the ER,” Tess piped up from the living room.

“What? What’s going to happen?!” Lance all but shrieked.

“Oh relax, Lance,” Tess snorted. “I was just gonna tell Hunk that Tami’s gonna be home late tonight, if at all.”

“Oh,” Lance said, relaxing.

“Although, I would avoid Tamiami on your way to the beach.”

“WHAT?!”

Pidge and Tess snickered.

“Kidding!” Tess called out jovially.

“Dude, calm down,” Hunk said, calmly chopping veggies. “It might be the longest day of the year but I don’t want to spend the rest of it making salsa and guac. Chop chop.” Hunk smirked. “Heh, get it?”

Lance groaned but continued to chop, dicing up two large onions in no time. He and Hunk worked quickly and efficiently, both eager to get the food finished, change into their swim trunks, and hit the road.

Though he didn’t mind spending time with Hunk and Pidge, Lance was dying to get back to the beach, maybe go for a swim before it got too dark. Despite being at the resort most days, he didn’t really get to enjoy the beach as much as he would like. It was why he was always so willing to take beach duty, even with all the sand in his shoes.

There was also the small matter of this being the first moment all summer that he was actually taking time for himself. All the past weekends, he had been busy with volleyball, or driving his sister to dance class, or taking an extra shift at Altea. Needless to say, Lance was just itching for the chance to throw himself into the gulf’s warm waters and float away for a little while.

A lesser man would have taken forever and a day to put together homemade salsa and guac, but Hunk being the culinary genius he was, took less than half an hour to get everything together. Once all the food been packed away into the awaiting cooler, Lance and Hunk headed to Hunk’s room to change and Pidge took over the bathroom. Clad in bathing suits and t-shirts, the three paraded out of the house, shouting over each other so loudly that Lance was sure Tess was glad to see them gone.

Much to Lance’s chagrin, Pidge claimed shotgun again, and he was stuck in back.

Out of spite, he reached into one of the grocery bags and pulled out the tzatziki chips. Pidge couldn’t hear the crinkle of the aluminum paper over the music, but she for sure heard when he leaned up right next to her head and _crunched_.

“What the hell, Lance?” Pidge yelled, whipping her head around to stare at him.

Lance grinned, popping another chip in his mouth.

Pidge narrowed her eyes. “If you value your use of the free internet, you will put the chips down.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Are you willing to test that?”

Lance put the chips down.

“I swear you two must have been actual siblings in another life,” Hunk said, looking for all the world an exasperated soccer mom behind the wheel.

“Why?” Lance said, leaning forward frantically. “What did Tess tell you?”

“She didn’t have to tell me anything. You and Pidge are ride or die adoptive siblings.”

Pidge lifted her fist, elbow on the center console. “He’s got a point.”

Lance met her first with his own. “Won’t argue there.”

“Probably doesn’t hurt that you and Matt are so similar,” Hunk said.

“Honestly, it’s a little freaky,” Pidge said. “I can’t believe you guys almost dated.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “We didn’t ‘almost date.’ Shiro set us up, we went on one date, and we figured out that we were the same exact person, so now we’re friends.”

“Speaking of,” Hunk said, stopping in front of the drawbridge that led back to the island, “is your brother coming tonight?”

Pidge shrugged, scrolling through her music and adding songs to the queue. “I invited him. Not sure if he’s gonna show, though. He had a big assignment due or something, and he’s not going to get here ‘til late.”

“Aw man,” Lance said, reaching for the bag of chips again and stuffing a few in his mouth. “I miss his stupid face.”

“Lance! Last warning. Eat your own chips!”

“But you have such impeccable taste,” he said, holding up the label for inspection.

“Be that as it may, you’d better unhand them, or I will go and like Shiro’s instagram posts from twenty-fourteen.”

Lance all but threw the bag into the front. “There is a special circle in hell just for people like you.”

Hunk merely chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, siblings.”

Five minutes later, they pulled into the public beach parking lot and began the process of dragging The Goods down the beach to the water. Looking at it all, Lance supposed they may have gotten way more than was necessary for seven people but it was worth it. It was a special occasion after all.

The solstice bonfire was a time-honored tradition in their group of friends that dated back to when it had just been Hunk and Lance. It had started the summer after sixth grade when Lance had happened to stayed the night at Hunk’s during a solstice. Tess had been going through a rather intense crystal phase at the time, and insisted on hosting a bonfire to “charge her quartz,” or whatever mystical mumbo jumbo she needed to do at sunset. It had been a night full of laughter and smiles so big they hurt, but had also been surprisingly emotional as well. Whether it had been the setting or Tess’s crystal-crazed, esoteric influence, that first solstice on the beach had certainly been a turning point in Hunk and Lance’s friendship, both boys leaving different than they had arrived.

Eventually, Tess’ crystal phase passed, but Lance and Hunk continued to make the yearly pilgrimage to the beach every solstice. At first it was simply a fun excuse for a beachside bonfire, but as the years passed, it became a thing of nostalgia for Lance and Hunk--a comforting tradition as they grew older and their lives grew more complicated. In fact, it had become such a place of safety and secrets, that it was where Lance had decided to come out to Hunk the summer of his sixteenth birthday.

Slowly, the sacred circle of bonfire attendees grew to the group it was today. Pidge was the first permanent addition through a rather ridiculous and convoluted series of coincidences. Lance and Pidge had met during Lance’s first attempt at college five years ago. They had become quick friends over the course of the fall semester, each acting as an incomparable source of support for the other. When Pidge had finally let it slip that she and her family spent almost every summer in Arus, Lance hadn’t even hesitated in inviting her to the annual bonfire. She and Hunk had hit it off immediately, cracking up over deep science and math jokes that flew right over Lance’s head.

It was then, through Pidge, that Allura eventually joined in as well. Since Pidge and her family were frequent guests at Altea, she had been instrumental in helping Lance and Hunk land their jobs at the resort. And although Allura hadn’t been an intentional addition so much as she had stumbled upon them one night, the group was all the better for her having joined. Not surprisingly, Shiro followed soon after, as did Coran, and the rest was history. Every now and again Matt made an appearance when he wasn’t too busy wandering the world in search of scientific Truths. Or whatever it was he did. NASA paid his bills so Lance figured he shouldn’t ask too many questions.

Up ahead, Hunk stopped at their usual spot and set down the crate of supplies he had been carrying. Lance chuckled watching his friend survey the area like an explorer as if he hadn’t been to that exact spot hundreds, if not thousands of times before. A line of sea oats swayed gently behind them, cutting off the views of the villas beyond, and the Gulf lapped lazily at the sand before them. The breeze was just right on this part of the beach, keeping everyone cool, but not strong enough to blow away all of their things. It was the perfect spot.

Lance and Pidge caught up with Hunk a moment later, and also set down their loads. While Lance began unrolling blankets and unpacking pillows, Hunk set up a small table for snacks and drinks, and Pidge started to assemble her rather impressive set of portable speakers.

Lance glanced surreptitiously at the setup, trying to figure out exactly how they worked. Ever since Pidge had stolen his phone and scrolled through his music, she had deemed Lance unworthy of playing music basically ever. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but she had somehow managed to lock him out of all her speakers--Bluetooth, aux, you name it. But Pidge was a tech genius and Lance was but a mere mortal, and it didn’t matter how much he wanted to play “Fabulous” from the High School Musical 2 soundtrack, Pidge would not let him within three feet of the music selection.

The speakers remaining as enigmatic as ever, Lance turned back to his task, laying out the last blanket before helping Hunk finish with the snacks. They left the drinks in the cooler beside the table, the handles of hard liquor packed in next to cheap beer and Publix-brand soda. Lance and Hunk worked together to unpack the food, but when it came to setting it out he let Hunk work alone. His friend’s culinary school training also manifested itself in presentation so “no Lance, you can’t just put all the chips together you have to keep the pita chips by the hummus and the tortilla chips by the guac and salsa.”

Assured that the rest of the picnic was in good hands, Lance set up the fire, digging a shallow hole in the center of the blankets and chairs. He constructed a simple but sturdy teepee out of the logs they had bought earlier in the week, stuffing in newspaper and kindling between the wood. Satisfied with his construction, Lance stepped back, and slapped the sand from his hands and knees.

“You guys need any more help?” he asked Pidge and Hunk over his shoulder.

Pidge gave a vague waving gesture as she typed into her laptop adding final selections to the bonfire playlist, and Hunk barely acknowledged the question, intent as he was on trying to orderly arrange the chips and dips. Lance took that as a sign that he wasn’t needed. He yanked his shirt up from his collar, tossing it aside on a blanket and gazing out at the calm green water of the gulf.

A slow grin broke across his face and he all but sprinted to the water, sand spraying up behind him in dramatic arcs. As soon as his feet hit the warm, green water, Lance leapt in. He reveled in the resistance as he cut through the gentle waves, marveling at how the salty water glided over his skin and through his hair.

He dove down, pushing through the water, letting himself stay under until the pressure in his chest became too much. He kicked off the seafloor and bobbed to the surface, breaking the tension in more ways than one.

It had been far, far too long since he had done this. He looked back to shore, spotting Hunk and Pidge already a ways away. The current had taken him a good bit farther than he had intended, but Lance knew he was safe. He’d practically grown up here, after all. He swam against the current, relishing in the burn in his muscles as he fought his way back to his original spot.

Taking a deep breath, he once again dove under the water. The crash of the waves were muffled above him, the rest of the world beginning to fade into the background. Here, under the waves, he could just exist. No expectations, no disappointments. No one demanding he be someone else, something else. Here, he was just Lance, pulled along the current like helpless plankton.

Surfacing once more, Lance stretched out his arms and legs, letting himself float, his body relaxed as he surrendered to the pull of the ocean.

When he was little, his family had always said he was born for the water, and he took any chance that he could to escape into the ocean. For a while, Lance was convinced that he must have been part mermaid, and that his mom had had a tragic romance doomed from the start. As he grew older, however, he had begun to inherit his dad’s looks, so there was no doubt as to his parentage. Unfortunately.

Lance could feel the frown pulling at his mouth as he stared up into the endless blue of the sky. The water lapped gently at his cheeks as the waves pushed him in towards shore, teasing at the angry lines etched around his mouth. This wasn’t the night for these types of thoughts. This wasn’t a night for _him_ to ruin. He’d already had too many of those.

Splashing water across his face, Lance kicked at the current, hurrying along his return to his friends. He reached his hand down and when his fingers met sand, he flipped over and stood, wading the rest of the way out. He shaded his eyes against the glinting water, and approached the bonfire spot, noting the additional figures that had appeared during his swim.

He recognized the imposing figure of Shiro immediately, of course. He was clad in his usual tropical floral atrocity, the Tommy Bahama shirt open over a well-fitted black tank top. Seriously, how he made that look good, Lance would never know.

Keith stood next to him, his hair pulled into a messy ponytail, revealing the slender line of his neck, and--oh no. Oooooh no. Were those piercings? When did he get those? No way those were there the entire time. Nuh-uh. Not possible. Lance was sure he would have noticed the parallel silver hoops in one ear and the silver bar in the other. He had definitely seen Keith’s ears before after all. Hadn’t he?

Lance raised a hand in greeting as he got closer, pushing aside thoughts of what else of Keith he hadn’t seen. “Hey guys! You made it.”

Shiro and Keith both turned towards Lance, Shiro’s face brightening in a friendly smile. “Hey, Lance! Thanks for inviting us.”

Lance chuckled. “Shiro, how many times do we have to tell you? You have an indefinite invitation to this. You don’t need to say thank you ever year.” Lance squinted at Keith, noticing the deep red on his face and ears. “Dude, have you put any sunscreen on yet? You’re looking a little pink.”

Keith started, breaking his eyes away to the side and pressing a hand to his crimson cheeks. “Oh, uh. Right. I’ll just--go do that then.”

Lance titled his head, looking after Keith as he went to rummage in his bag. “Is he okay?” he asked Shiro, ruffling the water from his hair with a hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Shiro said, a smirk curling his lips. “He’s perfectly fine.”

“Hey, Keith. Want a gatorade?” Pidge called from her place by the cooler.

Oddly enough, Keith glared at Pidge, but Lance figured that was just Keith being his usual broody self. He had already seemed a bit...defensive when Lance walked up. His arms had been crossed--and no, Lance _hadn’t_ noticed the way the muscles flexed underneath his black tee, thank you very much--and his brows had been furrowed. Grumpy and emo was probably his default state, but Lance was finding that he minded less and less. It was just part of what made Keith, Keith.

“Anyways,” Lance said, dragging his eyes away from where Pidge was currently chucking a red bottle at Keith, and instead smiling at Shiro. “Help yourself to whatever. We’ve got the usual--beer, tequila, vodka, gin…” Lance began to list off the options on his fingers.

Shiro’s eyebrows quirked up a little. “That’s a lot of clear liquor.”

“Uh, yeah,” Hunk chimed in from a nest of pillows. “That’s what happens when you leave Lance in charge of the alcohol.”

Pidge stared stonily at Lance over the rim of her glasses. “He has the purchasing habits of a sorority girl.”

Keith sidled over towards the drink coolers, and Lance swore he could see him shuddering as he passed the Hawaiian Punch.

“Hey,” Lance said, placing his hands on his hips, “I’ll have you know I didn’t _just_ get clear liquor this time!”

Lance heard the clattering of ice as Keith rummaged through the cooler. A pause, and then--

“Oh wow,” Keith said, holding up the bottle of amber liquor to inspect the label. “This is actually really nice bourbon.”

Lance scratched at the back of his neck, eyes shifting across the sand at his feet. “Yeah, well, it’s your first official solstice bonfire. I figured you deserved to have a drink that you actually like.”

He peered up from under his eyelashes, only to catch the full weight of Keith’s gaze. There was a playful tug at the corner of Keith’s mouth, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

“Even though it’s devil juice?” he asked.

Lance shrugged, and he felt the beginnings of a small, knowing smile break across his face. “Even though it’s devil juice.”

They shared smiles for a moment--though, if asked, Lance would’ve sworn it felt like longer--until Pidge’s voice cut across the sand from where she was crouched before her speakers.

“Do you think that’ll mix well with Gatorade, Keith?”

Keith broke away first, tossing back a, “Shut up, Pidge!” but the smile was still there, and there was laughter in his voice.

Maybe Lance needed to re-apply his own sunscreen, his cheeks feeling a bit singed under the sun.

“So where’s Allura and Coran?” Shiro asked, snagging a ginger ale from a cooler.

Hunk pulled his phone out and swiped through a few screens. “She texted a little while ago saying that she and Coran would be a bit late. Something about a clogged pool filter.”

“Which is exactly why we’re playing cornhole before they get here,” Lance declared.

“Why before?” Keith asked.

“Because,” Hunk said, heaving himself up from his pile of pillows, “Allura is a British party pooper that questions the validity of any and all beach games.”

“And Coran takes way too long to throw,” Pidge added. “Like, solid minutes long.”

Hunk surveyed the group, tapping a finger to his chin. “Although, we’ll have to take turns playing since there are five of us.”

“Actually,” Keith said, raising a hand like he was a kid in class. Fuck, that was _adorable_. “I wanted to try and get some photos before the sun sets, so you don’t have to count me.”

Lance tried not to acknowledge the slight twinge of disappointment. “Are you sure?”

Keith squatted next to his camera bag and began fiddling with lenses and such. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Besides, now it’s even.”

“Hmm, alright. Then I call Muscles!” Lance shouted, taking the excuse to sidle up to Shiro and grab his arm. He may have caressed it. Just a little.

Hunk and Pidge turned to each other. “Team Punk?” Hunk asked.

“Team Punk,” Pidge answered, nodding her head.

Once the game boards had been set up, Lance and Pidge took one side and Shiro and Hunk took the other. Lance weighed the little blue bean-bags in his hands, miming the motion of tossing one. He squinted his eyes at the far board, trying to gauge the distance. He had a title to defend, after all.

He knocked his hips into Pidge and she nearly dropped her own red bean-bags. “Asshole,” she muttered, slamming back into him.

Lance simply laughed and shoved her away.

“You children ready yet?” Shiro called over to them.

“Ready to kick your ass!” Pidge called back.

“Language.”

“Yeah, watch your fucking mouth,” Keith said as he passed by them heading towards a row of sea oats, camera in hand.

Shiro opened his mouth as if to argue, but ultimately decided against it, instead shaking his head.

Even from this distance, Lance could see the fondness in Shiro’s eyes as he looked at his brother. He followed Shiro’s gaze and caught the sly smile on Keith’s face, no doubt proud of his own sass. Lance felt a dangerous tug pulling at his own mouth, and quickly rearranged it into something more akin to his trademark smirk.

“Alright,” Lance announced, “it’s time to put corn in holes before the British Brigade comes and breaks it up.”

“Lance, Coran is from New Zealand,” Hunk reminded him.

Lance waved a hand. “Same difference. Corn. In holes. Leggo.” He tossed a blue bean-bag across the sand and watched with satisfaction as it sailed right into the opposing board’s hole.  

“I will pay you to never say that again,” Pidge said as she lined up her own shot. It just reached the edge of the board.

“For eight thousand a month, I will stop.” Lance tossed another perfect three-pointer.

“Don’t tempt me,” Pidge muttered.

Once Lance and Pidge had tossed all four of their bags, the score was 12 to 1, with Lance having landed perfect 3-point shots each time, and Pidge having gotten only the one bag on the board. Shiro and Hunk then took their turns, returning a score of 18 to 9.

Pidge stamped her foot into the ground at the end of the round. “I veto this configuration for the next round. Lance and Shiro are too OP.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a drunk two year old,” Lance said, gathering up the bean bags.

“I fear for any child put in your care,” Pidge said.

“Hey, I am an excellent older brother-slash-uncle-slash-daycare professional.”

“Yes, you are Lance!” Hunk called out.

“Thank you, Hunk!”

“But I agree with, Pidge. Team switch for the next round. You and Shiro are too powerful together.”

Shiro shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Ugh alright,” Lance groaned.

“Oh, and Lance is handicapped next round too,” Pidge said, throwing her first shot of round two. It missed the board by a solid foot.

“Why wait? It won’t make a difference.” Lance turned around, back to his target and hefted the bean bag in his hand a few times, gauging the toss.

He looked up, catching Keith’s gaze where he was crouched by the bonfire set-up, arranging one of the beach bags artfully next to the unlit fire. Lance could see the golden light of the setting sun spilling over the beach towels, gilding their edges and filling their dips and curves with soft shadows. Even to Lance’s untrained eye, it was an impressive shot, but he wasn’t going to let it distract from the shot _he_ was trying to take.

Lance gave Keith a wink, watching as a pretty flush made its way up Keith’s neck, and he tossed the bag back.

He could tell he made the shot even before the bag hit the ground, the sound of Pidge’s dismay just confirming what he already knew.

“You absolute fuckwad!” Pidge said.

“Don’t hate me ‘cuz you ain’t me,” Lance said, turning around and shooting her a pair of cheeky finger guns.

“Whatever, assmunch. But don’t think I didn’t see that wink,” she said more quietly.

Lance pursed his lips and glanced out towards the gulf. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Pidge scoffed. “Oh, sure. ‘My name’s Lance and I’m not trying to start anything’.”

“I’m not!” Lance exclaimed. “Can’t a man wink at a friend without fear of persecution?”

Pidge crossed her arms. “Not when you’re super fucking gay for said friend.”

Lance sniffed and jutted his chin out before marching to the other board. “My winks are perfectly platonic, thank you very much. ”

“Said the liar,” Hunk muttered as he passed Lance on his way to switching sides.

“Oh, and Lance?” Pidge called out.

“What?” he asked defensively, turning.

“Double handicap.”

Lance threw his hands up. “Come on!”

He pivoted back towards where Shiro was waiting at the board, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

“Oh zip it, Shiro.”  

“I didn’t say anything,” Shiro said with a shrug, and Lance shot him a glare.

“Whatever,” Lance said. “I’m still gonna kick all y’all’s asses.”

“We’re on the same team, Lance,” Pidge said.

“Then why did you handicap me?”

“I want to be the best person on the team for once.”

Lance shook his head but settled into the game. With the double handicap and the reshuffling, the games actually lasted longer than just two rounds. Lance, of course, got way too into it, squinting into the setting sun as he made shot after shot. At one point, Hunk made Lance spin around in circles before going, all of them laughing as he stumbled, but he still managed to hit the board.

Lance tried not to notice Keith wandering the beach while they played--crouching down to take photos of the incoming waves, or lining up a shot of one of the colorful lifeguard stands--but he couldn’t quite help how his eyes kept returning to Keith’s gentle, satisfied smiles every time he took a shot he liked. Or how his mouth twisted slightly whenever he toyed with his camera’s settings.

One such reverie was rudely interrupted when a bean bag hit him in the face. He turned, his mouth agape, to look at Pidge who had her hand on her hip and a quirk to her brow.

“You can hit me, but you can’t hit the fucking board?!”

“New rule,” Shiro said, “two bonus points if you can hit Lance while he’s...distracted.”

Before Lance could voice his objection to the new and completely unfair rule, a distinct Kiwi accent piped up from behind him.

“What’s this? Playing a bit of cornhole? Why, back in my day we played with bags full of lead pellets.”

Allura, radiant as usual in a loose pink blouse and shorts, scrunched her brows beside the enigmatic ginger-haired man. “Lead pellets? Really?”

“Oh, yes!” Coran enthused. “Lucky for you, Lance, they adopted a more tame version of the game in this country.”

Hunk winced a little. “I don’t think I want to go to New Zealand. It sounds dangerous.”

“Nonsense, Number One,” Coran said. “Australia is much worse. Have to watch out for the dropbears there.”

“Dropbears?” Lance asked.

Pidged chucked a bean bag at his chest, but Lance managed to snag it before it made contact this time. “Don’t even go there, Lance. Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“We can debate the existence of homicidal marsupials later, but right now, I just need to sit and relax and not have to deal with resort guests or chlorinated bodies of water for a while,” Allura said, plopping down in one of the few camp chairs Hunk and Lance had set up around the fire pit. Lance never could understand the magic behind it, but somehow she managed to make the move look graceful.

“Preach, sister,” Lance said, abandoning the game of cornhole to take a seat next to her.

The others followed suit, silently agreeing it was time to end the game in favor of eating and drinking. Lance scanned the group and found a particular short ponytail of unruly black hair missing. He did a quick a head-swivel and found Keith a ways down the beach, half-crouched into the sand. Somehow, he had made it far enough away that he was no longer within shouting distance, and Lance figured someone should probably go get him.

Lance popped back out of the chair. “You guys get started without me, I’m gonna go grab Keith before he wanders all the way to Tampa.” He headed in Keith’s direction before Pidge or Hunk could make a comment, studiously ignoring their raised eyebrows and impish grins.

Lance took the time walking towards Keith to settle his mind a little, letting Pidge and Hunk’s comments cycle out. They were just teasing after all. It’s not like Lance actually liked Keith as more than a friend. Besides, he barely knew the guy. All the blushing and flirting was just infatuation. Infatuation and two nights of tequila-inspired word-vomit.

As Lance neared the spot where Keith was practically lying flat in the sand--camera squished to his face and earrings glinting in the slanted sun--the sounds of his friends behind him faded away, overshadowed by the white noise of the waves and the cries of seagulls. Keith didn’t seem to notice Lance’s approach, however, his attention wholly trained on the scene he was composing through his viewfinder. Lance sidled up close, basically squatting directly next to Keith, and watched as he turned the two rings on the lens ever so slightly and carefully. He flicked his thumb over a small, clicking dial, breathed in, and-- _shhk_!

“Was it a good one?” Lance asked, elbows propped on his knees.

“Holy fucking shit!” Keith practically rolled away in surprise. “Where the _fuck_ did you come from?”

Lance helpfully pointed in the direction of the bonfire site. Keith followed the line of his finger and squinted slightly.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I had walked that far.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme with you.”

Keith pushed up from the sand to his knees, brushing it off the front of his shirt as best as he could. “Yeah, well, I sort of hyper-focus when I actually get to take photos for myself.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty easy for me to just--you know, get caught up in it.”

“Nah, I get it,” Lance said. “I can get like at the aquarium sometimes. Especially when I’m working in the labs.”

Lance stood, straightening his legs out, and offered a hand down to Keith. He took it and Lance hauled the other boy up, ignoring the pinpricks of heat that ran up and down his entire arm at the contact. He may have held on a moment longer than necessary, catching Keith’s eyes, bright and alight in the slanted rays of the sun, but let go as quickly as he could without making it awkward.

Clearing his throat, Lance gestured to the camera cradled in Keith’s hand. “So, was it? A good shot, I mean.”

Keith seemed to start a little, as if breaking out of his own reverie. “Um, yeah, I guess? You can take a look if you want.”

He pressed a few buttons and turned the camera around to show Lance the playback screen. Even though the image was tiny and most certainly did not do the real file any justice, Lance was floored by the quality of it. The sun was a giant disc of golden fire, setting ablaze the low-hanging clouds on the horizon, and silhouetting a singular lifeguard stand.

“Holy shit, Keith!” Lance blurted out. “This is fucking amazing.”

“It’s alright.”

“Al--alright?” Lance was aghast. “Keith. My man. This is some Florida Magazine worthy bullshit, are you kidding? Like, not to sound like an eighty-year-old woman, but that is breathtaking, dude.”

Keith flushed a pretty rose color, taking the camera back and looking down at it. “Thanks,” he said quietly, twisting the lens in and out.  

“But for real, dude, you are seriously talented. How did you do that?” Lance’s photography experience was limited to his phone camera, and while he thought of himself as a bit of an expert on composing the perfect selfie, he knew he didn’t quite have the eye for more than typical tourist-y landscapes. Keith, on the other hand, clearly knew what he was doing. Lance could tell, even just by looking at the tiny screen, that this shot told a story.

Keith fiddled with the camera strap, a wry sort of smile on his face. “Lots of trial and error,” he said with a tone that implied ‘lots’ was an understatement. “It’s mostly about knowing your equipment really--what your camera and lenses can and cannot do. You could have the most expensive, advanced camera in the world but if you don’t know how to use it or what you’re shooting then it doesn’t really matter. A really good photographer could have only a disposable camera but take an amazing photo with it, as long as they know the camera’s limits.” Keith considered this a moment and Lance was content to watch him as he weighed his words. “I guess a healthy portion of it is also having a good eye, as well. Theory and such will only get you so far. You have to be able to tell your viewer something with your photos. You have to make them care.”

“Wow.” Lance was completely taken aback by Keith’s speech. He wondered if that was what it was like being on the receiving end of his rants about ocean conservation efforts, if he lit up like that when talking about something he was that passionate about. It was honestly thrilling to watch. “You really love photography don’t you?”

Keith smiled gently, a small dimple appearing in the cheek closest to Lance, nearly sending him into cardiac arrest.

“Yeah,” Keith said, quietly, “I do.”

The moment settled into a comfortable silence as they began picking their way back through the soft sand. Lance took note of the shrinking distance between him and Keith, and the rest of the group. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he had to take advantage of their fleeting solitude.

“What other kinds of shots have you gotten?” Lance asked.

“Hmm, a whole bunch of stuff really,” Keith said noncommittally.

Lance snuck a shy glance at Keith. “Can I see some of them?”

Keith seemed almost taken aback by the question, which Lance found slightly amusing--a photographer hesitant to share his work--but he recovered quickly, raised eyebrows the only remnant of his mild surprise.

“Uh, sure if you want.” He handed the camera over to Lance. “Just wrap the strap around your wrist or neck so it doesn’t fall.”

“Roger that.” Lance also made sure to hold it as Keith had, lens and body supported by the left hand, with the right gripping the side.

Keith leaned in close to point at the camera’s back and Lance pretended his breath didn’t catch just a little. “Just flick that little dial there and you can scroll through the files.”

Lance did so, and watched photo after photo of stunning Floridian beachscapes scroll by. Keith, despite being a quintessential snowbird, saw Arus like a native. Though not every shot was perfect, some out of focus or just a little too bright, they conveyed what Lance thought of as the true Florida--the sea oats gently waving in the breeze, the smug look of a seagull captured just at the moment of stealing some unsuspecting person’s sandwich, and…

“Whoa,” Lance said, stopping in his tracks and staring at the screen.

“What?” Keith asked, peering over his shoulder.

“This picture of the turtle nests,” Lance said. “I don’t really know how you did it, but you made them look...not boring.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whenever I try to get photos for the aquarium’s website, they just look like awkward piles of sand surrounded by sticks. You somehow got them to look interesting.” Lance considered the photo again, noting the soft morning light, and weak, slanted shadows of the wooden markers draped across the sand. “Seriously, it looks like a NatGeo cover or something.”

Keith snorted. “Yeah, I wish.”

“I’m serious,” Lance said, handing the camera over and starting back down the beach. “Photos like this are what made me want to go into conservation in the first place.”

“Really?” Keith asked, falling into step beside Lance.

“Yeah, man. This was maybe, I don't know, like seven or eight years ago? I saw this NatGeo issue in the supermarket that was entirely focused on the Great Barrier Reef. I begged my mom to buy it for me and spent all night reading through it, looking at the photos. It was amazing, they showed conservators releasing rehabilitated turtles, tagging sharks for migration studies. It hit really close to home so I was just hooked right away you know?"

Keith blinked up at Lance, genuine curiosity evident on his face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was actually born in Cuba. My family moved here when I was seven, so I've been around beaches and the water my whole life. When you live in a place like this, or on a small island like Cuba, it's really hard to be so close to all that and not care about it. I mean, when your backyard is the ocean, it can be pretty upsetting when you have to clean up someone else's plastic bottle they were too lazy to recycle properly. And that's the least of what I've run into before," Lance said with a slight grimace.

Lance realized suddenly that he had been rambling, and he sheepishly snuck a glance at Keith. Violet eyes locked on his, and Lance saw that there was no hint of boredom, that they hadn’t glazed over. Instead, they were thoughtful, and Lance could practically see Keith’s decision to speak being made in them.

“I, uh, actually wanna be a NatGeo photographer.”

“No shit?”

Keith barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Actually--”

“Lance! Stop flirting and come light this fire you dick!”

Lance’s eyes snapped forward, spotting his friends where were a lot closer than when he had last checked.

Pidge was standing there, one hand on her hips, her foot tapping impatiently. Hunk was trying to hide a grin, and Shiro was looking between his brother and Lance with a curious expression on his face.

Lance felt his face flood with heat, but he mustered up as much dignity as he could.

“Please, if I was flirting, you’d know it,” Lance said. “That was simply an intellectual conversation.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re both blushing,” Pidge stage whispered as Lance passed her on his way to the fire pit. Lance couldn’t help it as his eyes sought out Keith to see if Pidge was right, but the other boy had already escaped, back turned to the group as he put away his camera gear.

“Now,” Pidge continued, “let’s light this bitch up. I wanna play with it.”

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. “Should I be concerned?”

“Probably,” Pidge said cheerfully. “But I brought cool pinecones that make the fire pretty colors.”

“Did you buy them or make them?” Shiro asked, and Lance didn’t miss the note of suspicion in his voice as he knelt by the fire and grabbed a piece of tinder.

“...bought them?”

“You know what, for the sake of my sanity, I’m just going to believe you.”

Hunk nodded sagely at Shiro from his nest of pillows. “You’re learning.”

“Don’t worry, Shiro,” Lance said, taking a neon green lighter to the wadded up newspaper between the logs, “someday you’ll reside in blissful ignorance like the rest of us.”

Lance crab walked around the fire pit, lighting the newspaper at a few different points so that it would catch evenly. Once he was sure that the logs were going to stay lit, he stood and bowed in theatrical fashion.

“My esteemed gentlefolk, I proudly present to you...the bonfire!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly from Hunk and Pidge, who also added “ooh”s and “aah”s for dramatic effect.

“Now, I don’t know about you all, but I could use a drink,” Lance said, walking to the cooler.

“Way ahead of you, buddy,” Hunk said, raising a rainbow-colored solo cup.

“Fear not, Lance,” Coran piped up from his spot at the snack table. “I’ve got just the thing. Here you are!” He handed Lance a cup with a burgundy-looking drink inside.

“Thanks, Coran.” Lance took the cup without hesitating and tipped the drink back.

This proved to be a grave error on Lance’s part, as the only thought going through his head was an emphatic _eugh_.

Lance spluttered and spit the drink back into his cup, coughing a bit.

“ _¡Jesucristo que está en el cielo!_ Coran, what the hell was that?”

“Coran,” Allura said, and patted Lance gently on the back, “you didn’t just give him that drink you’ve been concocting did you?”

“Why, I didn’t concoct it,” Coran replied. “This is a secret Wimbleton Smythe recipe passed down for generations. Nunvil we call it.” He took a sip from his own cup with no trouble as he returned to his seat by the fire, and Lance shuddered.

“It’s okay, Lance,” Allura said, handing him a different cup. “Try this instead.”

Lance peered into the cup and sniffed at it suspiciously.

“Oh please, it’s just tequila and Hawaiian Punch, don’t be such a baby,” Allura said, rolling her eyes.

“After that experience, I don’t think I’ll be able to trust anyone ever again,” Lance said, putting on his best tearful expression, which wasn’t hard considering that the burning aftertaste of Coran’s vile concoction still lingered on his tongue.

Lance took the cup from Allura regardless, hazarding a cautious sip. When tequila mixed with Hawaiian Punch actually met his taste buds, Lance might have moaned a little as it washed away the taste of Nunvil.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” he sighed. “Shit that’s fresh.”

“...what just happened?” Keith asked.

Lance looked up and saw Keith, now camera-less, regarding him with confusion.

Coran took the opportunity to jump up, bounding towards Keith with a cup of Nunvil in his hand. “Oh, did you want to try?”

“No!” Lance and Allura both shouted, and Lance leaned forward to place himself in between Keith and the Nunvil.

“Let’s get you some bourbon instead,” Lance said, pushing Keith towards the coolers. “Even your devil juice is a better fate than that.”

Once everyone had their drinks sorted and various plates of food before them, they gathered up around the fire in a half-circle of beach chairs, pillows, and blankets. They chatted easily as they waited for the sun to set, the beach around them becoming increasingly cast into shadow. By the time eight-thirty was approaching, the air around the fire was relaxed and comfortable, most everyone being at least one drink in already.

This is what Lance had been waiting for. The open smiles, the effortless laughter, the sand beneath his feet, and the gulf out before him. He looked around the fire at his friends, taking a quick moment to himself while Hunk held their attention with his grand storytelling gestures, and felt the best sort of contentment settle over him. It wasn’t the same type of stagnant contentment that filled him when he thought of his job, or his sandtrap of a town, but something gentler, easy, understanding. It was the feeling of being surrounded by people who were willing to take him as he was, despite the flaws and misgivings. It was the feeling of being loved.

Lance scanned each face, eventually landing on one framed by thick, black hair that gently curled around cheekbones and silver-studded ears in the humid air. The feeling of contentment didn’t leave when Lance looked at Keith but it did...change slightly. He couldn’t put a name to it quite yet--was terrified to do so, honestly--but neither could he say that he didn’t like it. Lance thought he was being sneaky, stealing glances at Keith’s sharp cheekbones, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, and the graceful curve of his fingers around his cup. Keith’s eyes shifted then, however, pulling away from Hunk and the rest, to meet Lance’s own. Had they been anywhere else, Lance might have darted his gaze away in embarrassment at being caught, but the bonfire was warm and the drink in his hand was strong and so Lance smiled, a close-mouthed and gentle kind. Keith seemed to soften just a bit at this and smiled back.

Hunk groaned in the middle of his story, arms flared out to the sides. “Lance, help me out, bud. What was that lifeguard’s name from last summer? The one from the flamingo floatie incident?”

Lance broke away from Keith’s gaze, and quickly schooled his features into something more suited to the story. “Ryan Kinkade,” he sighed dreamily.

Hunk smacked a palm to his forehead. “Oh, right. Duh. So, anyways, Kinkade literally _vaulted_ over the lifeguard stand railing, hit the sand rolling, and then he just popped up running towards the water. It was the most Baywatch meets Naruto thing I had ever seen in my life.”

“Oh my god, did he do the Naruto run?” Pidge asked. “Please tell me he did the Naruto run.”

Shiro scrunched his brow in confusion. “What’s a Naruto run?”

Seven minutes, three demonstrations, and four vines later, and Shiro’s previously full drink was very nearly gone.

He looked to Allura next to him, his eyes dead serious but with the weariness of an eighty-year-old man in them. “Don’t let me ask any more questions,” he said and got up to refill his drink.

Lance eyed where the sun was almost touching the horizon and jumped up from his blanket and pillow nest. “Okay everyone!” he announced. “It’s nearly time. Follow Shiro’s lead and refill your drinks if you need to. This is not a cup half-full kind of bonfire.”

Pidge, Hunk, and Allura followed Shiro to the liquor table to top off their drinks, while Coran sipped happily from his cup of Nunvil. Lance’s entire body shivered at the sight.

Keith peered into his own cup but didn’t move, presumably deciding he had enough to satisfy Lance’s requirement.

Once everyone had settled back into their respective places by the fire, Pidge turned off the music, and Hunk stood, signaling the start of the main event.

“Most of you have been here before, but for our new guests and anyone who may have forgotten, this is the part where we give our toasts,” Hunk said with all of the grace and poise of a true MC. “Cheesiness is encouraged, good vibes are preferred, and the only rule is Lance goes last.”

“Wait, why does Lance go last?” Keith asked.

Before Lance could answer, Pidge piped up. “Because you do _not_ want to go after him. His toasts are either spectacularly heartwarming, or spectacularly hilarious.”

“It’s true,” Hunk said. “One year, he spent twenty minutes paying tribute to the beauty and wonders of Kaltenecker the manatee. I went through like, half a box of tissues.”

“And I stand by that,” Lance said, refusing to feel any shame whatsoever about waxing poetic about his favorite member of the aquarium.

“Okay, so Lance goes last,” Keith said. “Any chance we can...abstain?”

“Oh come on, Keith,” Shiro said, reaching his arm out to give his brother a gentle shove. “It’s tradition.”

“Besides,” Allura added, “you don’t have to say much. Just a little something nice about someone here, yourself, anything really. It’s up to you.”

Lance watched as Keith shifted uncomfortably under the weight of all the stares, fingers worrying at the lip of his cup. Lance had always been outgoing, and he loved the spotlight ever since he was little. Keith though, Lance had observed, preferred to be behind the camera, never in front.

“It’s fine if you really don’t want to say anything--we obviously won’t force you,” Lance said, looking straight at Keith. “But the bonfire’s a safe place. No one’s going to judge you here.”

Keith hummed thoughtfully as he took a sip of his drink, not really agreeing to speak, but not refusing either.

“So,” Hunk said, once again taking up his seat, “Who’s going first?”

An awkward silence fell over the seven of them, and Lance was reminded of moments in high school when no one wanted to answer the teacher.

“I’ll go,” Allura said, standing up and breaking the silence.

Lance looked on as the fading light of the setting sun and the playful shadows of the fire reflected on Allura’s face. With her white hair flowing behind her back, she looked much too regal to be standing on a beach with a rainbow plastic cup in her hand. Still, she cleared her throat with dignity and began the toast.

“First, I just want to thank Lance and Hunk for inviting all of us. I understand this is a years-old tradition that they’ve decided to share with us, and we are all honored to be here.”

She gave a deliberate pause, and everyone let out whoops and cheers. Lance felt his cheeks flush, but he and Hunk both nodded in acknowledgment.

“Truly, I am so grateful to have met each and every one of you. Altea has been my family’s pride and joy, and I always knew there was a sort of magic about it, but now I’m sure. That magic has brought all of us together, at this moment in this place.”

Allura paused, and Lance noticed a brightness to her eyes that told him she was fighting back tears. “I know most of you never got to meet my father--” Lance spotted where Shiro placed a subtle hand on the back of Allura’s elbow “--but I can say with certainty that he would be proud of what we’ve accomplished together as friends.”

“To Altea!” Lance said, raising his glass, and his cheer was echoed by the others.

They all took sips from their respective cups, letting a comfortable silence descend so the next person could go. Pidge took the opportunity to stand, going so far as to jump up onto her chair.

“Listen up, sluts,” she said, scanning across them all with a playfully menacing finger. “I love you bitches. I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you bitches. Even you, Lance.”

Lance blew her a kiss.

Pidge’s face softened a bit, but her eyes retained their fiery spark. “I can never appreciate enough that you all treat me like a person when everyone else tends to treat me like some kind of android genius. Which, I won’t argue, I can be, but you guys see all the sides to me. More importantly, you accept all those sides. So...thanks.” She raised her cup and took a sip, everyone copying the motion. “Now somebody else go before I choke on all this sentimentality. It’s too much.”

Coran straightened out the collar of his polo, unfolding himself from his chair, if a bit unsteadily. “I suppose I’ll go next!” he announced. “I merely wish to say that you lot are some of the finest people I’ve ever come to know, and it’s been an honor piloting this friendship with you all.”

With that, Coran saluted the group and walked, albeit at a slight angle, out of the bonfire circle. They all stared in silent confusion until it was apparent that Coran was literally walking straight into the ocean.

A cacophony of distressed “no!”s sounded as everyone scrambled to reach Coran. Lance and Allura were the quickest, grabbing the errant Kiwi by the arms before he could meet the water.

“All right,” Allura said, patting his shoulder and leading him back towards the fire, “no more Nunvil for you.”

“None-vil for me,” Coran murmured, giggling a bit to himself as he tumbled into his seat.

Lance suppressed a snort as he took his place between Coran and Pidge.

“Okay, someone else should probably go before Coran decides to walk into the fire next,” Pidge said.

“My turn!” Hunk exclaimed, and Lance watched in amusement as his best friend squinted in the golden light of the setting sun. “So, like, I’m gonna try not to cry, but no promises. Anyway, I just want to say these bonfires are super important to me and Lance, and every year I think, you know, it can’t get better, but now you guys are here, and it’s just…” Hunk sniffed, squinting more, but Lance suspected it had less to do with the sun and more to do with the fact that Hunk was just a big softie. “...these bonfires are magical, you know? They change you. But they only make friendships stronger. And I guess what I’m saying is...I’m so happy to be friends with all of you.”

By this point, Hunk was openly crying, tears streaming down his face as he beamed at all of them. “To the power of friendship!”

“Here here!” Lance cheered, holding back his own tears. Hunk was right in saying these bonfires changed you. Sometimes it was in subtle ways, small breadcrumbs you would find later on, but the changes were always profound.

Once Hunk’s round of toast sips were taken, Shiro stood from his camp chair, adopting a rather dad-like pose with his feet slightly apart and his drink clutched close to his middle with his good hand.

Shiro cleared his throat. “I guess I’d like to start off by saying how proud I am of all of you. I know I haven’t known some of you as long as you’ve known each other, but this group has come to mean so much to me, and you guys are really some of the best people I know. It’s been a privilege to see many of you grow up, and I just know you’re all destined for great things.”

Shiro looked at each of them as he said this, holding Lance’s gaze meaningfully before sliding to Keith, where he lingered the longest. Keith, for his part, held his brother’s stare with something Lance would almost categorize as defiance. Knowing even the little he did about Keith, Lance suspected that he could have held Shiro’s stare indefinitely, but then a voice piped up from the other side of the fire.

“To my future greatness!” Pidge cheered, taking a rather dramatic gulp of her drink. “Oh, and you guys too,” she tacked on after with a grin. Good-natured laughter met the comment as the others followed suit with their own drinks.  

A small silence settled over the group as the sun began its final descent below the horizon, and expectant, but gentle glances were directed towards Keith’s side of the fire. Keith fiddled with the cup in his hands, rolling it between his palms. Lance was tempted to just stand up and start his own speech, giving Keith an out from having to speak, but something told him to wait. Maybe it was the way Keith bit his lip, or the furrow in his brow, but Lance decided to let the silence sit a bit longer.

After a moment, Keith let out a harsh sigh and stood, eyes trained intently on the sand in front of him.

“Okay, so I really hate public speaking and this sucks, but uh...you guys don’t? Suck, I mean. Shit, I’m really not good at this.” Keith huffed out another sigh, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Lance really shouldn’t have found it as endearing as he did, but he couldn’t help the swoop of his stomach as Keith’s eyes flickered to his before continuing. “I guess what I mean to say is, I didn’t have a lot of expectations coming down here, and I certainly didn’t plan on making any friends, but I’m glad I did anyways. You guys are...pretty great.”

Keith took the customary sip of his drink, the others following suit, and sat down as abruptly as he had stood. His bright red ears were made all the more apparent by the shine of the silver in them. Shiro jostled Keith’s shoulders with a smile and Keith pushed back, but Lance could tell it was just the playful, brotherly kind of shoving.

The group died down for a moment then, the sun out before them just clinging to the last vestiges of the day. In just a few minutes, it would slip over the horizon and night would fall, their half-circle of friends illuminated by nothing more than the fire and the pale glow of the moon.

Lance took a small, steadying breath and stood, rainbow cup in hand and heart full as he took in the sight of his friends all gathered together.

“Friends, Romanians, countrymen,” Lance began, doing his best imitation of an imperious British man.

Allura unsuccessfully stifled a snort. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘Romans.’”

“Nuances,” Lance said, waving a hand flippantly. “We have all gathered here today to celebrate the union of two celestial entities--the sun and the moon--”

“Again, not what a solstice is,” Hunk said, though Lance saw the smile on his face.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lance said, staring down Hunk and Allura, trying his best to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching up. “What Hunk said before is true. This bonfire is special. Not because we’re marking the ‘celestial calendar’ or setting things on fire--,” Pidge interrupted with a brief but terrifying cheer, “--but because we’re all together. It’s something that has come to mean so much to Hunk and me, and I hope to you guys too.”

Lance looked down at his feet, wiggling them a little further into the sand before continuing. “As most of you know, I haven’t had the...easiest time with feeling accepted, either by myself or by important people in my life. But here, at this fire, with you guys, I know that I am.”

The others around the fire had gotten quiet, and the only thing that could be heard was the crackling of the logs and the crashing of the waves.

“Though I’ve known some of you for thirteen years, and some of you for only a week,” he gave Keith a small smile, “I can say without a doubt that you’re all genuinely good people. The world is kind of a crappy place right now, and as someone who wants to save the ocean, I know this all too well.” Lance let out a small, breathy laugh before moving on. “But just knowing that people like you exist is enough to make things better, to make it easier to keep fighting for what I want. Fighting for a better future.

“You guys all talked about really important things--friendship, tolerance, hope--and, honestly, it gives _me_ hope that I know you guys. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I just want the world to feel as loved and accepted as I do right now, because it’s your love and acceptance that make me want to be a better person . I--hang on, Pidge, are you crying?”

Lance looked at the little figure next to him when he heard telltale sniffling. She was using the collar of her shirt to wipe at her eyes, but she somehow still managed to glare at Lance menacingly.

“Shut up, asshole, this is all your fault,” she said, sniffing once more.

“Aww, Piiiiidge,” Lance said, leaning down and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “You _do_ love me.”

“I can’t be left out of this!” Hunk burst out, scooping both Lance and Pidge up in a giant hug, his tears dropping onto both of their heads.

“Alright,” Coran announced, popping up from his chair, “this calls for a group hug. Everybody in!”

Before he knew it, Lance was surrounded on all sides by his friends, tear tracks apparent on every one of their faces. All but one.

Keith stood a few feet away from the rest, his face unsure as he rubbed nervously at his arm. Lance caught his eye and nodded a head towards the group

“Come on, Mullet. Second rule, teary-eyed group hugs are mandatory.”

Keith seemed to still be debating whether or not to join when Shiro called out from the dogpile.

“Keith, I’m your brother and I love you, and these are now your friends. Get your ass in here.”

Pidge let out an affronted gasp. “Shiro! Language, please.”

Lance could practically see something in Keith crumble away as he burst out laughing. “You know,” he said, still snickering, “just for that, I’ll do it.” And he stepped in to where the others were still laughing and crying in equal measure.

With everyone pressed so close, Lance couldn’t help but notice how hot it was--even with the sun gone--but at the moment he really didn’t care. He would deal with a little overheating to feel this happy, this loved.

Pidge, however, was a little less heat tolerant than others, and soon tiny, pointy elbows were flying.

“Alright, off off off off off! Too hot!”

“Hot damn,” Lance said, shaking his shirt out to get some modicum of a breeze on his skin. “Y’all are furnaces.”

Hunk fanned at his face a moment, looking rather like a flustered southern belle. “So hot. But so worth it.”

“Like me,” Shiro said as he peeled off his top layer of his loud hawaiian shirt leaving him in just his sinfully tight tank top.

Lance promptly choked on his own spit.

“You are so valid, Shiro,” Pidge said.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” Allura started, though Lance didn’t miss the lingering look she gave Shiro’s rather sizable pectorals, “but don’t we have one more toast to drink to?”

“Oh, right!” Lance scrambled back to spot on the blanket and picked up his cup, raising it slightly. “Everyone else have their drink? Then, take a fucking sip babes, because I love you all!”

A resounding cheer echoed across the group, and Lance saw that even Keith was smiling, openly and without reservation.

Lance’s stomach fluttered at the sight, and in the firelight, beneath the stars and surrounded by his friends, he let himself admit that he really _really_ wanted to see that smile more.

With the toasts officially over and the sun completely set, everyone settled in around the fire. Lance fed in new logs every once in a while, keeping the blaze alive but manageable, and the supply of alcohol dwindled steadily, feeding the conversation and the mood.

Full-dark eventually settled in, any lingering glow from the sun replaced by black skies and bright stars. People kept shuffling around, getting up to refill drinks, or returning with various bowls of chips, but Lance stayed put, his eyes trained on the fire.

Lance felt good--he hadn’t felt this loose or safe in a while--but something still niggled at the back of his mind. Whether it was the sentiments behind his toast, or his errant thoughts from earlier, Lance couldn’t help but feel a bit conflicted. He was surrounded by friends, by people who loved and accepted him, so he shouldn’t have been so affected by these old feelings, these old fears. And yet…

He felt the telltale spray of sand and glanced out of his peripheral vision to see that Shiro had settled himself down next to him.

“You doing okay, Lance?” Shiro asked. “You seem…”

“Quiet?” Lance supplied, poking at the fire with one of the sticks he had set aside.

“I was going to say distracted.”

Lance sighed heavily, turning to the man next to him. Shiro was already staring back at him, his grey eyes full of that typical Shiro brand of sincerity.

Maybe it was the drinks he’d had, or the calming light of the fire, or just the fact that it was Shiro who was asking, but Lance found himself wanting to speak. “You know it’s been seven years since I first came out?”

Shiro let out a soft breath, and and expression of understanding passed over his face. “Yeah?”

Lance nodded. “When I was sixteen, Hunk and I came out here by ourselves--it was still just us back then. I stole a bottle of rum from my dad’s stash, and he and I drank half of it. Then, when I thought I was brave enough, I told him I thought I might be into guys.”

Lance turned back to the fire and poked at its edges, flicking away tiny embers with the end of his stick. “I knew he’d understand. I mean, he’s got two moms. But, still, it was probably the scariest thing I’d ever done.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said, huffing out a humorless laugh. “First one’s the hardest.”

“No it’s not,” Lance said quietly.

“No,” Shiro agreed, “it’s not.”

They fell quiet again, both of them just watching as Hunk set up some kind of makeshift bar, placing stacks of cups in front of Pidge, Allura, Coran, and Keith, and announcing the beginnings of “Chopped: Mixology.”

Lance tried not to notice how cute the furrow in Keith’s brow was as he concentrated on carefully pouring from the jug of Hawaiian Punch, or the way he smirked when he smacked Pidge’s hand away as she tried to take the tequila from his area. And Lance really tried not to notice when his eyes lit up as Hunk praised his drink.

“Do you ever get tired of coming out to the same people over and over?” Lance said finally, breaking the silence. “It’s like, no one believes you, and they’re all just waiting to see if you finally pick a side.”

Shiro bobbed his head in agreement. “And they never seem to understand that there’s no side to pick.”

“Exactly!” Lance exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. “Man, being bi really sucks sometimes.”

“Sometimes. But we still have the best flag,” Shiro said, and Lance met his eyes in time to see his small smile.

“True,” Lance said. “Bi-five?” He offered a hand up, and Shiro grinned.

“Sure, Lance. Bi-five.”

A cheer came from across the fire, and Lance looked up to see Keith standing with a triumphant look on his face as Pidge pouted, Coran and Allura politely clapping beside them. Lance couldn’t help but stare at how the silver in his ears glinted in the firelight, how the corner of his mouth twitched up in a half smirk, how his whole face looked soft and open.

“Though I’m not sure how I feel about high-fiving you while you’re checking out my brother,” Shiro said, and Lance startled out of his reverie in time to feel his face flood with heat.

“Feeling left out?” Lance said, elbowing Shiro’s side gently. “Don’t worry, you take off that tank top and I won’t be looking at Keith.”

A low whistle sounded behind Lance. “Jeez, Lance, how many people are you cheating on me with?”

Lance whipped his head around and spotted Matt approaching the bonfire, ruffled dark blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and hands casually in his pockets.

Before Lance could even say his name, however, a small, dark shape darted past him and careened straight into Matt, nearly knocking him to the sand.

“Matt!” Pidge exclaimed, her arms wrapped around his middle. “You made it. I missed you!”

“You missed me, huh?” Matt squinted down at Pidge, noticing the bright spots of color in her cheeks. “Who gave my little sibling alcohol?”

Hunk raised his hand as he and the others made their way back to the fire, not looking the least bit guilty.

“Excellent,” Matt said, and pointed a finger towards Hunk. “Someone give that man a raise.”

“Done,” Allura said, fumbling for her phone. “Siri, remind me to give Hunk a raise.”

Hunk beamed, but Lance let out an indignant squawk. “Hey, what about me?!”

Allura gave Lance a long look. “Siri, remind me to tell Lance to stop showing up late so he can have a raise.”

Lance clutched at his heart. “I’m wounded. Beyond hurt. Matt, my one true love, console me.”

Matt extricated himself from Pidge’s clutches, and promptly found his way into Lance’s lap. He wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“I’m here, my darling,” Matt said deeply. “Let me comfort you with my body.”

Shiro rose from his spot beside Lance and beelined for the drinks. “No. Just no.”

“Oh come on, Shiro,” Matt said, calling out after him, “don’t you miss hearing about our sweet sweet love?”

“Aaand I’m out,” Pidge said, tailing Shiro to the liquor table. “Shiro, get the vodka please.”

Lance hugged Matt tighter to his chest. “I fucking missed you, you troll.”

“Right back at you, babe,” Matt said with a wink.

Allura placed a hand over her heart, watching them from a few spots down. “Young love is so pure, isn’t it?”

Coran nodded sagely. “The purest force in the world.”

“Truly beautiful,” Hunk agreed.

“Did I miss something?” Keith asked.

Lance peered around Matt’s shoulder to where Keith was sitting on top of a blanket next to Allura. His face was scrunched up in confusion and something else that Lance couldn’t quite place.

Matt seemed to notice Keith for the first time, and Lance could practically feel the once over he gave him.

“Why hello there,” Matt practically purred, and Lance felt himself freeze. “I’m Matt, and you are the man of my dreams, I presume?”

Keith’s face seemed to glow a little redder in the light of the fire.

Shiro all but whipped around from where he and Pidge were reloading on snacks. “Matthew Holt I swear to god.”

Lance shifted his legs,  jostling Matt in his lap. “I wouldn’t go there, Matt. Keith here is Shiro’s brother.”

Matt seemed to mentally reassess Keith, nodding to himself slightly. “That makes sense actually. You guys look so much alike.”

Pidge spluttered into her cup as she returned to the fire. “Matt for real? Are you fucking high?”

Matt gasped, affronted. “Who told you?!”

Lance couldn’t help it--he let out a full-bellied laugh. Of course Matt was high, of course he would just materialize literally out of nowhere like it was nothing, and of course he would start hitting on Keith. Lance fell backwards in the sand, accidentally dislodging Matt, but by that point, Matt had begun laughing as well.

Pidge sighed plopping down next to Keith. “Keith, I’d like to personally apologize. The idiot giggling on top of Lance is my brother Matt. Please ignore the both of them for the rest of the night, they’re the literal worst together.”

Lance’s laughter finally died down, and he pushed himself upright again, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Oh man, Matt my dear, you are the fucking love of my life.”

“So,” Keith said, staring down at the sand, knuckles white around his cup, “you two are together then?”

If Lance let himself, he could believe that the tightness in Keith’s voice could be attributed to jealousy, but that was a train of thought that screamed danger. Keith was probably just confused, Lance reasoned, and maybe a bit tense at the sudden introduction of someone he didn’t quite know yet.

“Matt and I? No way,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “Though it wasn’t for lack of trying on Shiro’s part.”

“Shiro?” Keith asked, turning to where his brother was sitting on the other side of Allura.

Shiro sighed and Allura patted him gently on the shoulder. “I try to do one nice thing and what do I get in return? Furry sexts. I needed at least a year of therapy for that one.”

“You know this doesn’t actually clear anything up for me, right?” Keith said, the cute little furrow back between his brows.

“Shiro tried to set Matt and Lance up,” Pidge said, taking pity on Keith. “They figured out they were basically the same person in two different bodies and decided that instead they’d mess with Shiro and ‘accidentally’ send him sexts meant for each other. They’re idiots, the end.”

“That’s...actually quite accurate, thank you Pidge,” Lance said, nodding.

“Wait wait,” Keith said, looking as if he were mentally connecting dots, “that was you? You two were the furry sexts incident? Shiro had to call me and ask how to block a number because of that.”

Matt rolled away from Lance and sat up, throwing his hands in the air victoriously. “We’re an incident!”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Hunk muttered into his cup.

Keith gave Lance a hard look. “You’re not actually a furry, are you?”

Lance smirked. “You’re gonna have to be at least a level ten friend for that one, Mullet.”

“Oh please, for the love of fuck tell me I’m not a level ten friend,” Pidge said, a look of horror in her eyes. “I do not want this information.”

Hunk sent Pidge a sidelong look. “Remember that time when we all played D&D?”

“No no no, nope, don’t want to hear anymore,” Pidge said, covering her ears. “This

conversation is cancelled.”

“Seconded,” Allura said, rising from her chair. “Now then, which of you weaklings is going to do shots with me?”

In the end, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all joined Allura, while Shiro and Keith settled for simply mixing new drinks. Naturally, Allura outpaced everyone, causing Lance and the others to tap out after two shots each.

When they all returned to the fire from the drinks table, they found Matt and Coran next to each other, passing a neatly rolled blunt back and forth. Lance rolled his eyes, but smiled. Of course Matt had come packing.

Allura seemed entirely unaffected, barely even tipsy, the only indication that she had had any alcohol at all being that she kept saying “Lance” less like her usual “Lonce” and more like “Lawwwnce.” Hunk seemed to be holding his own as well, but Lance was thoroughly into tipsy territory, bordering on drunk. Pidge, however, had moved from decently intoxicated to absolutely smashed.

Currently, she was sitting on one of the camp chairs, tipping it precariously to the side as she reached over and clutched Lance’s arm.

“Lance, I just wanted to tell you that you’re so smart. Like, so smart,” she said, and Lance tried not to laugh as she nearly fell over trying to stroke his hair.

“Okay, Pidge, sure.”

“No, I mean it. People think you’re dumb because you say silly things, but you’re so smart. You notice stuff.”

Lance quirked a brow. “I notice stuff?”

Pidge nodded vehemently, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Yeah. You made me bracelets and I didn’t have to ask for them, you just knew.”

“You seemed like you needed them,” Lance said, and he gave her a soft smile.

“That’s what I mean! You’re so smart.” Pidge gestured wildly, and that was all it took for the chair to tip, spilling the drunk gremlin onto the soft sand, where she let out a soft “eep!”

Matt giggled. “That sounded like a laser.”

“What? No way,” Lance said, shaking his head. “Lasers definitely go ‘pow pow pow.’”

“Are you a laser or a comic book fight?” Keith asked with a smirk over the rim of his cup.

“Lance please,” Hunk said, “this is a laser noise.” He made a series of exaggerated arm movements and low explosion noises.

Pidge straightened herself out, brushing sand from her hair. “You guys are home go drunk. It’s more like ‘ba-choo ba-choo.’”

“Alright already, enough with the bad sound effects,” Shiro said. “Besides, it’s more like ‘blam blam.’”

Allura winced. “Not to add fuel to this fire, but that is just not correct, Shiro.”

A chorus of agreements sounded across the group.

“Although,” Pidge mused, pushing their glasses up their nose, “if the laser had a low enough frequency I’ll bet you could make some pretty ‘zyoom’ like noises.”

From there, Hunk and Pidge began discussing the possibility of building their own lasers from various pieces of equipment they had at home, and Lance promptly tuned them out. He turned to the others, but saw that Shiro and Allura were slowly drifting closer and closer, clearly caught up in their own world.

Matt and Coran appeared to be astral projecting to another planet, two blunts burned away already between the two of them, and Keith had slipped away to the snacks table, his back turned to the group.

Sensing an opening, Lance stood and quietly carried himself, though bit unsteadily, away from the bonfire, towards the water. He settled onto the sand just a few feet away from where the waves could reach and breathed in the salt tinged air, letting it settle some of the alcohol-induced haze.

It felt good to get away from the heat of the fire, the warm coastal breeze feeling almost cool in comparison against his skin. The sand was rapidly losing any heat it had obtained during the day, and Lance dug his feet into the soft ground with a quiet sigh.

The drunkenness from earlier was beginning to fade, the shots he had taken with Allura gradually dissipating. Lance settled into a comfortable kind of tipsy, content to take this stolen moment away from his friends, away from the fire, to come back to himself. He knew that this was not the setting, that these were not the people he had to pretend with, but still. It was hard to break old habits. Hard to remember that he could be himself, even if that meant being a quieter version of himself.

If he were being honest, it was this part that had always been his favorite part of the bonfire. When everyone let down their walls and became truly themselves--Hunk and Pidge geeking out over various sciencey things, Allura and Shiro having in-depth conversations, Coran and Matt being...well, Coran and Matt. He had always found a refuge in moments like these, when he didn’t feel like he had to fill silences, when he could just sit and watch the waves roll in. Everyone was so occupied being themselves that they never bothered to mind that Lance wasn’t at the center of it all.

And so, Lance was surprised to say the least when he heard the semi-drunken shuffling of feet in the sand behind him. He turned and saw Keith walking towards him, stumbling a little, drink in hand as he plopped down heavily next to him.

“Hey, Mullet,” Lance said, trying not to laugh as Keith frowned down into his nearly empty cup. “You doing okay there?”

Keith looked up, an almost petulant look on his face, and Lance felt caught in the full force of his gaze. “You disappeared.”

Lance planted his hands behind his back, cocking his head cheekily. “What, you miss me or something?”

“What if I did?”

“Aww, Mullet.” _Keep it casual. Easy, Lance_. “You do care!”

Keith frowned, the little furrow between his brows becoming awfully familiar. “Of course I do. You’re...you’re my friend.”

Lance couldn’t help it--a soft smile broke across his face. “Yeah?”

Keith nodded, the frown lessening. “I was worried. You’re not usually quiet.”

“I see,” Lance said, turning back towards the water. “And how would you know what I’m usually like?”

Keith shuffled forwards a little, sticking his feet in the sand where the incoming waves could reach them. “I might know more than you think.”

 _Danger danger danger._ “Oh? Do tell.”

Keith shrugged. “I can tell you’ve got a rocky relationship with your dad. And I get it. I mean, I don’t _get it_ get it, but I understand how it feels to be hurt by someone you trust. Someone you love. And, you know, the whole tragic parents thing. I get that, too.”

Lance stared at Keith in mild shock, the other boy’s face partially concealed by his new position and the fly-away hairs that escaped his ponytail.

“I’m not asking you to share your story or anything,” Keith carried on, taking advantage of Lance’s stunned silence. “But I just want you to know that I get it.”

Lance drew his knees up closer to his chest, clearing his throat slightly. “Do you?” he asked quietly.

Keith seemed to consider something for a moment, staring intently out at the ocean before speaking in an almost reverent tone. “My parents bought me my first camera when I was six. It was just a plain disposable one--you know, those clunky yellow things you buy at Walgreens--but it was my most prized possession. I took it everywhere, even wrote my name on it with silver sharpie.”

“Keith,” Lance said, startled at the sudden admission. “Keith, you don’t have to tell me this.”

“I know.” Keith turned, his indigo eyes piercing in the moon’s glow off the water. “I want to, though.”

Lance swallowed and his pulse thundered in his veins, but he gave a small nod.

Keith trained his eyes back on the waves, kicking his feet out a bit in the water and relaxing back on his hands. He was quiet for so long that Lance was sure he changed his mind about sharing, but after a moment, Keith took a slightly shuddering breath and went on.

“I lost that first camera about a week after I got it. I was pretty upset but my parents kept buying me new ones, so I got over it. They died two years later when I was eight. Car crash. I was in the backseat. I made it, they didn’t, and honestly, I’m still sort of mad at them for that.” Keith gave a quiet, sad laugh. “But anyway, Shiro’s parents took me in. When I moved my stuff over to their house, I found that first camera, stuck behind my dresser. I still have it--still take it everywhere. I haven’t developed the film though.”

Lance reached forward, placing a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith didn’t turn but leaned into the touch slightly, like a plant bending towards the light.

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” Lance said, his voice gravelly from disuse.

Keith shrugged. “It happened so long ago, a lot of things have become fuzzy over the years. I’d say I’m over it, but you never really get over something like that.” He huffed a humorless laugh, sliding his eyes to peek at Lance from the side. “You wanna know what’s really fucked up though? Part of me is still so angry at them for dying. Everyone around me got to see their parents get older, to learn their quirks, to get annoyed. I only knew them as parents...not as people.”

Lance squeezed Keith’s shoulder once before removing his hand with a tired sigh. “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s better not to know. Just because they’re your parents doesn’t mean they’re always good people.”

Keith turned at that, his brows quirked in confusion.

Lance’s heart stuttered, fear at having said something wrong stabbing through his chest. “That’s not to say your parents weren’t good people! I mean, I’m sure they were--would have been?--great people. Ah, shit.” Lance ran his hands through hair. “Did I just insult your dead parents?”

Much to Lance’s surprise, Keith didn’t punch him in the face. Instead, he let out a loud, long laugh, “Yeah, you sort of did, but it’s really okay.”

Lance gave Keith a sheepish grin, his shoulders scrunching up. “Sorry.”

Keith shrugged. “I told you, it’s fine. I’ve had a lot of time to work through it.”

“Still,” Lance said. “What I said--I didn’t mean that about your parents, honestly. I guess I was speaking more from experience there.”

Keith rested a chin on his shoulder, regarding Lance with those strange violet eyes. He didn’t say anything, leaving the opening for Lance to take or to ignore.

Lance scooted forward a little in the sand, reaching a toe out towards an incoming wave. The water brushed over his foot cool and calming.

“You weren’t wrong when you said I’ve got some...issues with my dad,” Lance stated. “It turns out that he’s not the most understanding person.” He stretched out his other foot, marveling for a moment at the contrast between his and Keith’s skin, side-by-side. “I honestly don’t know why I was surprised that my very Catholic, very conservative father wasn’t okay with one of his sons being into guys. But I guess when it’s your parent, you just assume they’ll love you no matter what. That’s how it’s supposed to work isn’t it? Unconditional love and support?”

Bitterness leaked into his voice with every word, but now that the floodgates had opened, Lance found the story spilling out of him. “Turns out that some parents have a terms and conditions for that. According to my dad’s, being ‘gay’ was grounds for familial excommunication.”

This time, it was Keith who reached out a hesitant hand, hovering just above Lance’s knee before settling down. Lance felt it like an electric shock, the simple touch wreaking more havoc on him than it should.

“And if that weren’t enough,” Lance said, forging on despite feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin with that simple contact, “apparently ‘just a phase’ applies to parenting, too. The worst part wasn’t that he left, that was going to happen anyways. I probably could have dealt with a clean break. But when one year you get a card instead of a call on your birthday, and the next he ‘forgets’ to invite you to Christmas…”

Lance heard the break in his own voice, saw the tears pooling at the edge of his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to break over him.

“Shit,” Lance said, pressing his hands to his face, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “He’s probably not even thinking about me. Why the hell am I thinking about him?”

“Your mom fixes cars right?” Keith asked abruptly.

Lance dragged his hands down his cheeks and looked at Keith. “What?”

“Shiro said she’s the best mechanic he’s ever been to, and now he won’t let anyone else work on Kuron.”

Lance’s mouth ticked up at the corners, and his ears felt hot. “Keith Kogane, are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

It was hard to tell this far away from the fire, but Lance could have sworn he saw Keith blushing.

By this point, Lance was almost approaching sober, but if anybody asked he’d blame what he did next on the tequila.

“A little, but it’s not nearly as distracting as these,” Lance said, reaching out to smooth some of Keith’s stray hair away from his ears, brushing gently at the cool metal piercings. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice these for a week. Very emo chic.”

“Oh, shut up,” Keith said, ducking his head away from Lance’s hand.

Lance pulled back a little and chuckled. “But yeah, my mom’s a mechanic. Best in the county.”

“She has her own shop, right?”

“Yes! Actually, she just expanded a few years back…”

Lance let himself be pulled into the distraction Keith offered, gushing about his mamá, and then his siblings, pride filling his chest as he talked about each of them. For his part, Keith listened intently, nodding along to Lance’s stories, a gentle smile on his face. Lance tried to stay focused on his words, and not on how the moon glow sparkled in Keith’s eyes, or how every inch of space between them felt like not enough and too much at the same time.

It was surprising to Lance how easy it was to talk with Keith like this. Under the stars, with only the waves for company, and hiding behind the false wall of faded intoxication, it was a simple thing to let the words just flow unrestricted, unchecked.

“So I looked up that shark you like, the longfin mako?” Keith said at one point while redoing his ponytail, pulling the loose strands back into order. “It’s cool, but I think I like the thresher shark better.”

“I--you...what?”

Keith leaned back, planting his hands in the sand behind him, his posture easy and relaxed. “Yeah, I mean, what’s not to love about a shark with a whip for a tail?”

This boy had looked up sharks. Lance’s favorite shark. All for the sake of having this conversation, because he knew that Lance loved them. Lance chuckled, shaking his head in exasperated wonder.

“ _Si qué eres algo más_ ,” he muttered under his breath.

And then, because they were away from their friends, because they had only the stars for company, and because he could hide behind the excuse of past drinks, Lance let himself entertain a dangerous idea.

He propped a hand on his chin and regarded Keith, his striking cheekbones, his ridiculous tousled hair, and his pouty mouth. His mouth most of all.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Lance stated, turning back to the gulf, the hints of small rolling whitecaps just visible through the darkness. If he wasn’t listening for it, he would have missed the tiny gasp, the slight pause.

“Then why don’t you?” Keith all but whispered, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead, the hints of a flush apparent on his cheeks.

Lance glanced at Keith from the corner of his eyes, the other boy’s indigo eyes sparkling purple in the moonlight. _Because you could very easily break my heart_ , Lance thought. _Because you’re not staying and I’m stuck, and I can’t do that again._

“Because I think we could be really good friends,” he said instead, pulling his feet back away from the water.

Keith cocked his head to the side a bit, keeping his eyes trained on the water before him. “Is that all you want to be? Friends?”

 _That’s all we can afford to be_. “Yes.”

Lance saw Keith nod slightly out of the corner of his eye, his face unreadable in the dim starlight. He heard the intake of breath, saw his mouth open, and he braced himself for whatever answer Keith was going to give him.

“I--”

“Lawnce!” Allura shouted, her drunken state drawing out the vowels even more than usual.  “Keith! Come on!” She beckoned from the fire, which Lance saw was now various shades of blues and greens.

Lance pushed up from the ground quickly, the sand shifting under his feet, and brushed himself off before holding out a hand to Keith.

Keith looked up at Lance, and for a moment, Lance had no idea if Keith was going to take the offer or not. Then, Keith’s hand gripped Lance’s, and Lance had to pretend he didn’t notice how well they fit together.

He pulled Keith up, releasing his hand sadly, though he schooled his features into what he hoped was a neutral smile.

“We’d better go before she comes to collect us,” Lance said, nodding to where Allura stood, hands imperiously placed on her hips.

Keith pursed his lips and headed back towards the bonfire, but didn’t get very far before Lance impulsively grabbed at his wrist. He turned, eyeing Lance with something like suspicion, but didn’t move to pull out of his grasp.

Lance looked down to the sand as he spoke, fearing that one look would betray the want he was trying to desperately to keep at bay. “Thank you, Keith. For listening. And for telling me about your parents. I know that must not have been easy.”

Keith sighed almost imperceptibly, but curled his fingers in, the tips just brushing at Lance’s hand, before pulling away gently. “You’re welcome, Lance.”

They walked the rest of the way back to the bonfire in silence, albeit not an uncomfortable one. When they were close enough for normal-decibels of speaking, Allura swayed over to them wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders.

“Finally!” she lamented. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

Lance snorted. “Lura, it’s been like one hour, max.”

“No no.” She wagged a finger dangerously close to Lance’s nose. “It’s been ages. Years. Whatever those doboshes are that Coran always says? At least ten of those.”

“Doboshes?” Keith asked behind Allura’s head.

“Don’t ask,” Lance replied.

“Now that we’re all here,” Allura said with an air of fanfare, releasing both boys. “To Shiro’s!”

Shiro frowned slightly from his spot in a camp chair, cheeks still tinged slightly red from alcohol. “Allura, you can’t just invite people to other people’s villas.”

“I can when I own them.”

“Ooh,” Hunk called out from the snack table, “she’s got you there, Shiro.”

“So does this mean a sleepover at Shiro’s?” Lance asked excitedly, looking between Shiro and Allura.

“Well, seeing as I can’t in good conscience let any of you drive while this drunk? Yes.” Shiro said, pushing up from his chair.

“Besides,” Matt chimed in, “Pidge is already out cold.” He pointed to the Pidge-shaped lump curled into a pile of pillows.

“To Shiro’s!” Allura repeated, and started marching her way down the dark stretch of beach.

“Allura, wait, it’s dark and you shouldn’t go by yourself!” Shiro called, trotting after her. “Guys, I gotta go get her, see you at my place--Allura, at least get a flashlight or something--”

Lance smirked as he watched Shiro dart after a giggling Allura, if a bit unsteadily. They really weren’t that far from Altea, so he wasn’t too concerned.

That left Lance, Keith, Matt, and Hunk to finish the clean up, as Pidge was still fast asleep, and Coran was lying prone on the sand, pointing at made up constellations.

Hunk began trying to pack up the leftover snacks, but Lance caught him fighting off yawns as he fumbled with the tupperware.

“Hey, buddy, why don’t you give me the car keys and I can load all this up? You go help Matt with Pidge and Coran.”

Hunk nodded sleepily, handing Lance the bags of chips he held and trudging to where Matt was folding up the last of the blankets. Lance watched as he helped drape a sleeping Pidge over Matt’s back, and then pulled a bleary-eyed Coran up from the sand.

Lance smiled as he put the snacks back in the cooler and shoved pillows into various tote bags. He bustled around, shoving trash into grocery bags, putting speakers away, and when he turned to stamp out the last of the fire, he saw Keith shoveling sand onto the dying embers.

“What’re you still doing here?” he asked.

Keith tossed another handful of sand on the fire. “Helping.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

 _Friends_. The word that seemed so safe twenty minutes ago now stung unbearably in Lance’s chest.

“Right. Friends. Thanks, man.”

They worked quickly packing away the rest of the things, carrying them out to Hunk’s car and tossing them into the trunk. When they returned to the beach, Lance turned them in the direction of Shiro’s villa and they shuffled their way through the sand and the darkness, the silence heavy with words unspoken between them.

 _Friends_ , Lance reminded himself again.

That would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: DO NOT MAKE BONFIRES ON BEACHES DURING TURTLE NESTING SEASON. EVER. For the purposes of this fic, there are no turtle nests on this particular beach. Why? Because we are the gods of this world and we have willed it so.  
> No turtles were harmed in the making of this fic. And none will be, right guys? Good. 
> 
> Spanish for this chapter:  
> -Gracias a Dios que es-- [Thank god you’re h(ere)--]  
> -¡Jesucristo que está en el cielo! [Spanish curse phrase. Literal translation:Jesus christ in the heavens!]  
> -Si qué eres algo más [You are something else]
> 
> Writing Process Shenanigans!  
> Liv: You turned that scene from why don’t they kiss to FUCKING OUCH  
> Dani: :D  
> Liv: We’re great. We did it. We are a good team.  
> Dani: Ooooh. Bih. too soon. I’m still in mourning. NO META CANON DISCUSSIONS TONIGHT HAPPY FANON CANON ONLY  
> Liv: Okay so we’re pulling a nick fury. Got it.  
> Dani: Precisely. 
> 
> Liv: *spoilery things about emotional arcs*  
> Dani: You’re making me drink I hope you know that. *chugs beer*  
> Liv: Bitch me too, the fuq? *sips wine*
> 
> Liv: Idk man i may have to kill your darling  
> Dani: Awwwww. Bye homicidal marsupials. We hardly knew thee.
> 
> Liv: DANI WRITE YOUR KEITH RESPONSE YOU FUNKY LITTLE PANSEXUAL  
> Dani: *whose cursor is quite literally right below where Liv is typing* I’m right fucking here stop yelling lol
> 
> *while FaceTiming*  
> Liv: *takes giant sip of wine and looks down, shaking head fondly* I’m just so soft for them.  
> Dani: *sighs* bitch kin


	6. Why Can't We Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith learns what it means to be friends (or not), Pidge makes a playlist, and the Universe (and Shiro) just really want klance to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. It’s me (read: Dani and Liv).  
> We’re so so sorry this update took so long but the first 15k went through about 3 rewrites before it started to click, and school/work have been beating our asses the last month (or two) so that’s been fun :) :) :) (help us).
> 
> Also, this chapter is even bigger than the last one (whoops?). In that respect, you may notice that there is a natural stopping point of sorts after the third line break. Please please please take your time with this. Drink water, do your homework, grab a snack. The chapter will still be here when you’re ready. 
> 
> As per usual, many thanks to our illustrious translator, Dee ([Nonbinary_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Queen) or @[bondingrazzledazzletime](http://www.bondingrazzledazzletime.tumblr.com) on tumblr) and our tried and true beta, Jenna ([invisiblink](http://www.invisiblink.tumblr.com)).  
> BUT ALSO, a H U G E fucking thank you to Mem ([seven league boots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memphis/pseuds/seven%20league%20boots) or @[emphasis-all-mine](https://emphasis-all-mine.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) who poked all the right holes in this chapter and helped push it to be what it is <333 [Also, if you haven’t read it already, you should def check out her fic ([Paper Skins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911060)) if vampires, werewolves, and soft soft boys are your thing ;) it’s a fucking masterpiece] 
> 
> Anyways, without further ado, a very much overdue Chapter 5 <33
> 
> Songs for Chapter 5:  
> I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers  
> Diving by Bridgit Mendler and RKCB  
> ocean eyes by Billie Eilish  
> Wake Me by Bleachers  
> The Other Side of Sadness by Alvarez Kings  
> Just Say Yes by Snow Patrol
> 
> (And a quick reminder that you can find the SK playlist here)  
> [NOW THERE'S ART](http://artistic-snachel.tumblr.com/post/181227863586/a-recent-commission-i-did-for-snowthunder-and)  
> [THERE'S MORE ART OMG](https://apfelm00s.tumblr.com/post/181405973216/i-got-csp-yesterday-and-wanted-to-try-it-out-so-i#notes)  
> 

Keith wasn’t exactly sure why he had his hands full of used plastic cups and paper plates, but he suspected it had something to do the long-limbed boy wiping down a folding table in front of him. Which was odd, considering the fact that said boy had essentially just turned him down not fifteen minutes ago.

What made matters worse was that Keith hadn’t even been the one to make a move.

_I really want to kiss you right now._

God, why had Lance said that? And why did it still make Keith’s heart squeeze uncomfortably in his chest every time he thought about it?

Keith shoved the trash he held into a plastic bag and peeked over to where Lance was now disassembling the clean table into a flat rectangle.

Part of him wanted to regret the whole thing--regret opening up about his past, regret becoming attached to the people in this sleepy little tourist town, regret ever agreeing to come down and see his brother in the first place.

And yet…

Something in Keith had shifted since he first arrived in Arus. He couldn’t say for sure yet if it was a good something or a bad something, but the idea of staying to find out didn’t immediately send him running like it used to.

Although, at the present moment, with Lance’s words hanging heavy in the air, Keith was tempted to fall back on old habits.

 _I really want to kiss you right now_.

Had Lance said that yesterday, or hell, even just three hours ago, things might have turned out very differently. A quick affair of two strangers crashing together, each going their own way with no strings left untied, something easily left behind. But the tears Keith had seen shining in Lance’s eyes, scrubbed away with the back of a hand before they could fall, rewrote the boundaries of where Keith had thought them to be.

He was suddenly struck by how little he actually knew Lance. Was there more to the story than Lance was letting on? How much did things with his dad really affect him? Had he actually meant those words? Did Lance feel the same magnetic pull towards Keith that he felt towards Lance? Or was he just stringing Keith along, treating him no differently that he did the others? What did this boy want from him?

_Because I think we could be really good friends._

Keith grunted and dug into the sand a little harder than necessary, spraying it across the dying embers of the fire.

“What’re you still doing here?” Lance asked from behind him, clearly surprised to find that Keith hadn’t left with the others.

“Helping.” Keith swept another handful of dirt across the remnants of the fire.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do, isn’t it?” He tried not to notice the sting of the word _friends_ as it left his lips.

Keith could hear Lance’s feet shuffling in the sand behind him. “Right. Friends. Thanks, man.”

Repressing a sigh, Keith turned from the doused fire and focused on helping Lance clean up the rest of the party, adamantly refusing to allow himself to think about Lance’s oddly stilted answer.

They worked efficiently, packing away blankets and leftovers into boxes before hauling it all into their arms and out to the parking lot. With everything locked away into Hunk’s van, the two returned to the beach to begin the trek back to Altea and Shiro’s villa.

The beach was well and truly dark without the bright glow of the fire, and Keith would readily admit that he was completely turned around. A warm hand touched briefly at Keith’s elbow, startling him.

Lance pulled his hand back quickly. “Sorry,” he murmured, as if the darkness around them demanded quiet. He pointed into the inky night, and started walking. “It’s this way.”

Keith followed after him, keeping just a step shy of Lance’s longer stride, feet trudging through the powder-fine sand. They walked in an oddly heavy silence, which set Keith’s mind mind awash in a hectic frenzy of thoughts. He kept getting caught on the shape of Lance’s lips, how they teased and pulled at dimples and smile lines whenever he spoke. On the way his bronze skin glowed in the bright moonlight, and how his eyes mirrored the dark blue of the ocean.

Yet, with all these thoughts, there was the reminder that no matter how much Keith wanted to find out if Lance’s lips tasted like tequila, or if his hair was as soft as it looked, Lance had yet to tell Keith what he wanted.

_Friends._

_Kiss._

_Friends._

_Kiss._

_Friends._

_Ki--_

“Keith?”

Lance’s voice cut through the haze of thoughts and rolling waves, but he was no longer in front of Keith, having stopped a few paces back. Keith turned, trying to ignore the fact that his breath caught in his throat.

Lance’s hair was halo-lit against the close lights of Altea, his face cast in the half-light of their pale, blue glow. He worried at his lip, rosy skin caught between his teeth, and Keith couldn’t tear his eyes away.

 _I really want to kiss you right now_.

Lance dug a toe into the sand, a sheepish look on his face. “Look, I, uh--I guess I want to apologize?”

“Wha--” Keith caught himself, readjusting his voice to a more reasonable tone. “Apologize? What for?”

“Well, I feel like I sort of dumped all this stuff on you before, and I didn’t mean to bother you with all my weird baggage, and--”

“That’s what you’re sorry for?” Keith placed a hand on his hip. “Lance, I literally told you about my tragically deceased parents and a decades old disposable camera. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, but still… Sorry. You didn’t ask for all that information, but I sort of threw it at you anyway.”

Keith huffed out a breath, annoyance and relief at war in his chest. “How many times are you going to apologize for the wrong things?”

Lance held Keith's gaze, a question in his eyes. “So...you’re not mad then?”

“What do you think?”

“You gonna keep answering my questions with questions, Kogane?”

“You gonna stop asking stupid questions, Sanchez?”

They both paused, the air vibrating with the intensity of their gazes, neither backing down. But then Lance's mouth quirked and Keith couldn't help it when his did the same. Both boys let out soft laughs, their voices mingling together, and for a moment, Keith could see how things might be with Lance. How easy it was to be this playful antagonist with him, to let the sound of Lance's laughter fill his head and make him dizzy. But the stinging in Keith's chest dampened the vision, drawing him back to the shaky foundations of their reality.

Keith searched Lance’s face for a clue, anything to help piece together the infuriatingly confusing puzzle that this boy had become, but all he saw was Lance looking back at him, his own eyes searching. For what though, Keith couldn’t say.

“Did you mean it?” The words tumbled out of Keith’s mouth before he could stop them.

Lance cocked his head, giving Keith a questioning look, but the glint in Lance’s eyes told Keith he knew exactly what he was talking about. “Mean what?”

“Did you mean it when you said you wanted to kiss me?”

The words were deliberate and clear, and they hung in the quiet air like a bell that couldn’t be unrung.

Keith didn’t look away, watching the war behind Lance’s ocean blue eyes.

“Yes,” came Lance’s answer, surprising in its defiance.“But--” Keith’s heart stuttered, “I also meant what I said about being friends.”

“Friends,” Keith echoed quietly, the word bitter on his tongue. “And what _exactly_ does that mean to you? Because I think you and I have very different definitions.”

“Well, what do you want it to mean?” Lance gave a cheeky wink, but there was something weak and dull about it.

“Don’t,” Keith said firmly. “Not unless you actually mean it this time.”

Lance froze, his eyes wide, dropping completely his facsimile of a smile. “I...I’m... _ah, mierda_. Keith, I-”

Keith held up a hand. “Lance, look... I’ve seen how you are with your friends--flirting is kind of your M-O. And I don’t have a problem with that honestly, but I can’t keep doing this with you and not know if it means anything. I just can’t. You can take it or leave it, but I need to know--what do you want from me?”

Lance let out a breath, his shoulders slumping inwards as he cast his eyes out towards the darkness off the gulf. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I thought--I guess I thought I knew, but there’s just a lot going through my head that I need to sort out and I just---I don’t know.”

Keith crossed his arms, eyes skimming across Lance’s face. His features were half-lit by the glow of the resort, brows drawn together, mouth pinched tight at the corners. He really did look well and truly confused, and while Keith could appreciate the honesty, it wasn’t what he needed to hear. Not after he’d been going one direction one minute only to find everything all turned around the next.

“Well, you’d better figure it out because I won’t wait forever.”

Lance tried for a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Keith looked out to the gulf, eyes skimming the water’s surface for the faint glow of whitecaps. “So where does this leave us then?”

“Friends,” Lance said. “Or at least, I hope it does. I’m sorry I can’t give you more than that, but I’ll do my best to respect what you said.”

Keith turned back to Lance, capturing his eyes with his own. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Lance nodded, a tentative, albeit more genuine smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “I’d expect nothing less, Mullet. Now, let’s get back before Pidge steals all the blankets.”

“She’d have to get them away from Shiro first,” Keith said, taking the olive branch as they marched the rest of the way towards the villa and up the small set of stairs to the side door. “That man is a blanket slut.”

Lance snorted as Keith dug the key out of his pocket and fumbled with the lock, opening the door to a veritable, honest to goodness slumber party. The living room had been completely rearranged, the couch now pushed to the other side of the room, opposite Shiro’s bedroom door, and the two chairs, stripped of their cushions, shoved off to the sides.

Pidge, somehow still asleep, had been nestled into one corner of the couch, only her hair and a sliver of forehead visible from under the blanket she was burritoed into. Hunk and Matt were in the midst of constructing what resembled a nest on the floor out of more blankets, cushions, and pillows than Keith had even known were in the villa. Coran, already passed out off to the side, had produced a sleeping bag and earplugs from lord knows where, and Shiro was overseeing it all from a bar stool, his Concerned Dad look in full force.

“Are you _sure_ you guys don’t need any help?” Shiro asked, clearly not for the first time.

“We got it,” Hunk said as he fluffed one of the blankets and threw it on top of Matt, who had planted himself face-first into a pile of pillows.

“Don’t tell me you guys are having a cuddle party without me,” Lance said, rounding the kitchen counter. Had Keith not just been behind them, he might have missed the moment Lance’s walls went back up. His eyes narrowed as they followed Lance across the room to where he began helping Hunk and Matt pile together more pillows.

“Oh, Keith, by the way,” Shiro said turning in his seat and startling Keith out of his reverie. “I’m sharing your bed.”

“What?” Keith looked at this brother in surprise. “What’s wrong with your room?”

“Sheeeee-rrroooooo.” Allura leaned on the doorframe to Shiro’s room, her bonfire clothes swapped out for a rather large t-shirt Keith recognized from Shiro’s college days, the words ‘Sober Monitor’ printed in highlighter yellow across the front. “Come to beeeeeeeeed.”

“Yo.” Lance pointed towards Shiro’s door as he disentangled himself from the blanket nest on the floor, heading for the kitchen. “Allura is schwasted.”

Shiro gave a long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “Yup.”

Keith choked back a laugh as Allura swayed in place.

“I’m not _schwasted_ ,” Allura said, the combination of drunkenness and a British accent blurring the colloquialism into something nearly unrecognizable. “I’m merely tipsy.”

This time Keith couldn’t help it as a laugh slid past his lips, echoed by Lance as he rummaged in a cupboard somewhere behind Keith. Shiro merely gave yet another fond sigh.

“Keith, can you make sure everyone’s settled out here?” he asked. He nodded to where Allura was picking at a knick in the doorframe. “I’m gonna go deal with...that.”

Keith elbowed him in the side as he left, noting the flush of color high in his cheeks. “Good luck.”

He watched after his brother, a small smile tugging at his lips as he gently guided Allura into the bedroom with promises of advil and water. Someday, those two would figure things out. He hoped.

When Keith turned his attention back to the living room, he found that most of the bodies scattered across the room were hunkered down into their respective nests. Pidge and Coran had hardly moved at all, and Hunk and Matt appeared on the verge of sleep, blankets tucked high around shoulders, eyes closed peacefully.

Lance sidled up next to Keith, sipping from a glass of water and holding out a second full glass in Keith’s direction.

“Thanks,” Keith murmured, glancing at Lance out of the corner of his eye, watching for whatever mask Lance was going to don this time. But with the others asleep, or safely out of the room, Keith was surprised to see that none appeared. Instead, Lance hit him with a wry smile.

“What are friends for?”

Keith huffed out a small laugh. “You know, I think I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have friends. Most of my life, I’ve just had Shiro.”

“Well now you’ve got six of them.”

Keith rolled the glass between his hands gently, watching the water ripple. “And that includes you?”

“Yeah, of course. Now,” he said, gently pushing at Keith’s back, guiding him out of the kitchen towards the guest room, “you get out of here. Go get some sleep.”

Keith relented, letting Lance steer him away. “Alright alright, I’m going.” Once Keith reached the door he paused for a moment and turned, eyes alighting on Lance as he tiptoed over bodies to an open spot among the tangled limbs that were Hunk and Matt. “Goodnight, Lance,” he said softly.

Lance looked up a strange, but warm smile spreading across his face. “Goodnight, Keith.”

Friends…

The word followed Keith as he ventured into his room and got ready for bed, swirling around his head with various tones and colorations.

Maybe friends was enough. Maybe friends was just right.

He could make this work.

That night, Keith slept fitfully, his dreams plagued by smiles brighter than the sun and eyes bluer than the sea.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Keith woke up freezing.

At some point after Keith had fallen asleep, Shiro had snuck into the room and enacted a passionate, but short-lived struggle for the blankets. It had ended equally for both brothers, yet over the course of the night, Shiro had still somehow managed to steal both the comforter _and_ the top sheet, leaving Keith with just his t-shirt and shorts. He unfurled himself from the tight ball he had slept in and stretched his rigid muscles.

Keith spared a glance at the clock next to his bed--8:30 AM. Early, considering what time he had finally fallen asleep, but habit combined with fitful dreams of half-finished conversations made it obvious Keith wasn’t going back to sleep.

He quietly crept around the room, grabbing his running shorts from the floor by his bag, a fresh t-shirt from the top of the dresser, and snuck out the door, leaving the still sleeping Shiro none the wiser. Those who had slept in the living room were still tucked, bundled, and curled into their various spots across the floor and couch, the only signs of life coming from shifting limbs and twitching blankets.

Keith padded soundlessly into the bathroom and changed quickly, dumping his sleep clothes on top of a pile in the corner. He then carefully picked his way across the living room, side-stepping the sleeping bodies but paused when a muffled voice caught his attention. He turned his head slightly, instinct searching out the the source of the noise, and found the form of a sleeping Lance, mouth twitching in mumbled tones and a dark blue blanket tucked firmly around and under his face.

Keith knew he should have taken just the short glimpse curiosity demanded and left it at that, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. Lance looked...different when he slept. He was calmer, his features softer, lacking their usual dynamism, but not in the same way they had been down by the water last night. There was none of the sadness, the quiet pain that Keith had sensed before. But neither were there any of his typical coquettishness. Instead, there was something boyish to his face, the small pout to his lips as he breathed evenly in and out making him seem younger, more innocent in a way.

On some level, Keith realized that the ever-growing list of Lance-related things he had been accumulating was reaching concerning lengths. The cute little frown Lance made just then, however, clearly displeased at something in his dreams, made it really hard for Keith to care.

It was at that moment, that Matt flopped over, flinging one of his arms out and thudding into Lance’s back. Lance flinched, his eyes squeezing tighter shut, but Keith didn’t stick around long enough to see if they would open. Turning quickly on his heels, Keith all but lunged for the sliding glass door, opening it as quietly as a he could, and slipping out onto the deck.

Sucking in a large breath of the humid, salty air, Keith clambered down the stairs and set out on the path towards the water, picking up speed along the soft sand. He relished the burn in his calves and thighs, letting the building heat and his intensifying breathing chase away all coherent thought. Yet, despite his best efforts, he still couldn’t stem the tide of Lance-related notions that flooded his mind, the word _friend_ and flashes of his stupidly cute sleeping face coursing through it on repeat, in time to his heartbeat.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Lance that he’d forgotten what it was like to have friends his own age. That might have made him sound like some kind of sad, emo loner, but he’d never really felt the need to make any sort of permanent connections. He’d had Shiro, and that was as much as he had been willing to bother with.

This prospect of friendship with Lance--and Pidge and Hunk, even Allura and Coran to an extent--felt so foreign, but he found himself not minding too much. Friends was fine, great even. It was certainly more than he had ever expected to get out of his reluctant trip to this sleepy little tourist trap of a town. Maybe he had thought things could have been more with Lance--a small traitorous part of him still mourned that lost moment by the shore--but it was probably for the best. Now, Keith would just be leaving behind a friend. Who knows what he would have left behind otherwise.

And with that thought, even with his lungs burning from running, he felt like he could finally breathe easily.

 _Friends_.

Keith came to a gradual stop, heart pumping furiously, and a satisfying shakiness in his legs. He turned and could see Altea in the distance, but he was definitely a bit farther away than he had intended to be when he set out.

He really had to stop doing that.

Keith ran a hand through the short strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail, and headed back the other way. It was then that he finally realized he could feel the grit of sand beneath his feet, his shoes forgotten by the side of the door, and the telltale burn of blisters beginning to form on his toes.

 _Perfect_ , Keith thought, rolling his eyes. Shiro would never let him live it down if he found out he was too busy thinking about Lance to remember to put on fucking _shoes_.

By the time Keith made it back to the villa, his tired legs protesting every step up the stairs, the sun had slid a good bit higher into the sky. He wondered if the others were up yet, but as soon as he reached the top step onto the porch, the heavenly smell of butter and cinnamon told him that they were.

He slid the glass door open, stepping over the metal track as he was greeted by the gentle ruckus of muted hungover conversation and the clanging of pots and pans.

“Shut the fucking door, you’re letting all the heat in,” Pidge grumbled from a swath of blankets on the couch. Keith was shocked at the venom in her tone, despite her clearly having just woken up.

Matt threw a pillow at her from his perch on the wicker chair. “Most people usually say ‘don’t let the air out.’ Or, you know, ‘good morning.’”

“Most people are inefficient and wrong,” Pidge said, her voice growing stronger and less gravelly with use. “You of all people should know that heat flows, Mister NASA.”

“It’s Doctor Mister NASA to you,” Matt said primly, and Keith felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. He was really starting to see why Matt and Lance got along so well.

Keith slid the door shut with exaggerated care, even going so far as to lock it. “Heat death averted, okay?”

Pidge burrowed back into her blanket sharing a worryingly sly look with Matt. “For now.”

Keith shuddered as he skirted around the Science Siblings, refocused on locating the source of the mouthwatering smell of cinnamon from before.

“Oh, Keith!” Hunk piped up from behind the counter. “Good, you’re back. Do you like french toast?”

“Um...sure?”

“Perfect!” Hunk whisked a bowl of eggs together with impressive dexterity. “It’ll be ready in about twenty.”

Keith surveyed the counter full of ingredients, picking up a glass container of spices. “Where did all of this come from anyways? Pretty sure Shiro doesn’t even know what ‘Vietnamese Cinnamon’ is. I’m not sure _I_ know what it is.”

“We thought there was a chance we’d all end up here, so we wanted to be prepared.” Hunk shrugged good naturedly. “Besides, if you’re gonna do french toast you gotta do it right.”

“Oh, something smells good,” Shiro said, exiting Keith’s bedroom, sleep shirt rumpled and his tuft of white hair sticking up in multiple directions. He passed Keith, nose scrunching up. “And something smells awful. God, Keith, what gym bag did you climb out of?”

“Bigfoot’s,” Keith deadpanned.

“Nice,” Pidge said. She had managed to get herself upright and was now standing next to Keith, still swaddled in her blankets. She lifted a hand, and Keith went to give her a high-five.

“Ugh, no,” she said, backing off immediately, blanket raised to her nose. “Go take a fucking shower.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith conceded, fighting off a smile as he headed for the bathroom. After two weeks, Keith now understood that Pidge’s rudeness was actually a sign of affection and comfort.

He stepped through the door and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, lifting it halfway off before he caught sight of a pair of wide-blue eyes staring back at him through the reflection of the mirror, flickering between Keith’s waistline and his eyes.

 _Friends_.

Suddenly, the word was feeling more like a challenge than a safety net. Keith pulled his shirt the rest of the way off, tossing it to the side before fixing his gaze with Lance’s, raising an eyebrow.

“Problem, Sanchez?”

Lance blinked, seeming to shake himself. “Uh...no. Nope. No problem. Just…” Lance gave another pointed look down, vaguely gesturing in the vicinity of Keith’s abs. “Nice work.”

With that, Lance darted out the door, spots of color high in his cheeks, leaving Keith alone in the bathroom.

He shut the door firmly and dragged his hands down his face, noting the warmth he felt spreading throughout his own face.

“Keep it together, Kogane,” he chastised himself.

Shaking off his momentary stupor, Keith quickly undressed and showered with swift efficiency, letting the hot water hide the evidence of his involuntary blush.

When he exited the bathroom, small droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair, everyone was scattered across the living room, plates stacked high with food. Keith followed suit, filling his own plate, and found a space on the floor, the blinding light coming in from the porch to his back.

As he was about to take a bite, however, he caught Lance’s eyes, looking across the room at him from his spot on the couch.

“What?” Keith asked, lowering his fork. He was a bit on the defensive after the Pickle Incident.

Lance pursed his lips, returning his attention to his own food. “Nothing nothing.”

Keith snorted. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.” He lifted a piece of french toast to his mouth, but spotted Lance’s eyes again, darting from Keith’s fork back to his plate.

“Spit it out, Sanchez.”

Lance’s jaw snapped open and shut, like he was deciding whether or not to say anything, but Keith knew enough to know he couldn’t really leave well enough alone.

“Is that really how you’re gonna eat Michelin-grade french toast?”

“How the hell else am I supposed to eat it?”

“Properly.”

“There’s an improper way? It’s just french toast.”

Lance let out an indignant gasp, and Keith couldn’t help the small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. This, at least, was familiar ground.

“I won’t have you disrespecting Hunk’s cooking like this,” Lance said. “You can’t just waste all of your raspberry compote by drowning your french toast.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s _my_ breakfast. You eat yours, and I’ll eat mine, and we’ll both be happy.”

Lance snorted. “Like you could be happy eating soggy french toast.”

Keith looked Lance directly in the eye as he shoved a whole piece in his mouth, internally revelling at the resultant spluttering and bug-eyes it elicited.

“...are you guys done? Can we eat in peace now?” Pidge asked, and Keith realized that all other conversation had fallen silent while he and Lance had been bickering.

“Personally, I think it’s a rather worthwhile debate,” Coran chipped in. “One must wonder if the same rules apply to pancakes as well.”

"Coran," Allura said, coffee cup resting just below her lips, "I will pay you any amount of money you want to not start this conversation."

"Now just wait a second, Allura." Pidge tapped a finger to her chin. "He may be onto something."

"I'll match Allura's offer if you stop there," Shiro pitched in.

Pidge stared Shiro dead in the eye. "My silence is a luxury you can’t afford."

"And now they can afford it even less," Matt said. "I want in on this. Now, let's talk syrups. Pure maple or shitty store brands?"

The rest of breakfast was taken up by various food etiquette debates, but Keith could at least feel the tension in the room dissipate as it was filled with friendly chatter.

Keith couldn’t help the way his gaze wandered to Lance, however, thinking about how _normal_ their interaction was. If this was what it was like being just friends with Lance, then maybe he could manage it.

Once everyone had finished the last of their coffee, they began the arduous task of cleaning up Shiro’s villa. Allura and Coran left first, needing to check in with the resort’s weekend manager before heading home. Allura, with a rather large pair of sunglasses on her face and a bottle of aspirin rattling in her bag, opened the front door with what Keith would almost call a hiss.

“Oh good lord,” she muttered. “Has the sun always been this bright?”

“Hmm,” Coran hummed. “I seem to recall that a few millennia ago it wasn’t this bad.”

Allura stared over her sunglasses. “Yes, thank you, Coran.”

“Don’t mention it,” he piped cheerily, descending the steps to the boardwalk.

“Oh, Allura, wait up!” Shiro called, skirting around the kitchen counter. “I’ll walk out with you, I wanted to talk to you about that conference coming up next month.”

Keith watched the two exit the villa, returning Allura’s soft goodbye. He spotted Shiro’s hand resting gently on the small of her back as the door closed behind them, and smirked.

“We’d better take off too,” Matt said, placing the last chair back into place in the living room. “We’ve got a thing with our fam today.”

“Oh, shit that’s right!” Pidge smacked her forehead with a muted thud. “Can you just tell them I’m dead? Vanished into space for the next three years? Something?”

“Nuh-uh,” Matt said, grabbing her arms and pulling her up, Pidge letting her limbs flop like a ragdoll. “If I gotta go, you gotta go. You already skipped out twice this week.”

“Ugh, fine,” she relented, slinking sulkily to grab her things. “I’ll catch you guys later. And Keith?”

Keith straightened from where he was closing the overly full dishwasher.

“Stay hydrated out there.”

With that, the two siblings were out the door, exchanging goodbyes with Shiro as he came back in.

“Where are those two off to? Pidge looks like she’s going to an execution.”

“Family thing, I guess,” Keith answered with a shrug.

“Ah.” Shiro nodded like that explained everything about the tiny ginger’s impressive grimace. “Anyways,” Shiro continued, “do you guys need any more help?”

Lance twirled a drying towel in lazy spirals as he turned and leaned against the counter. “Nah, we’re good. You just sit there and look pretty.” He threw a quick wink at Shiro.

“You, however--” Lance tossed the towel at Keith’s face, which he scrambled to catch--“you can help.”

“Why do I have to help but Shiro doesn’t?” Keith asked, though he moved towards the drainboard and picked up a plate.

“Because Shiro actually lives here,” Shiro snarked, looking far too comfortable settled on the couch.

“I _could_ live here,” Keith muttered petulantly even as he helped dry.

“I mean, by your standards, you kind of do?” Shiro said. “I think this is the longest you’ve been in one place since high school.”

“Oh man,” Hunk said, a bit wistfully, “that sounds so cool. You really must have seen a lot.”

Keith shifted uncomfortably, feeling rather under the spotlight all of the sudden. “I guess? I never did too much exploring in the places I’ve been.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t always have a good enough reason to stay.”

“I’m surprised you found one then, because it can get a little boring out here,” Hunk said, a self-deprecating smile on his face as if he were apologizing for all of Arus. “So what have you guys been up to all week? We really missed you at the resort.”

Keith saw Hunk throwing Lance looks as he moved between counters, packing supplies away. Lance elbowed him as he passed but said nothing, his face unreadable.

“Nothing too crazy,” Shiro said. “I mainly just took Keith around town, showed him some of my favorite restaurants.”

“Oh?” Hunk’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention of the dining scene. “And what did you think?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith saw Lance pause beside him, the plate in his hand stuck beneath the running water just a moment too long.

“It was actually really nice,” Keith answered honestly, stacking a bowl in the cabinet. “Downtown is fun to photograph, and the food’s really good, but the people who live here are a bit…”

“Old?” Hunk offered, giving him an understanding smile.

Keith huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Lance rolled his eyes, setting a clean glass in the drying rack. “That’s because Shiro’s probably taking you to all the golf courses and Bingo games. If you were planning on staying, I’d say come stop by the aquarium.”

“Actually,” Shiro chimed back in, “that’s a great idea. I was going to ask if you guys had any suggestions, since Keith is going to be here for a little while longer.”

“Oh,” Lance said, his voice oddly small. “You are?”

Keith peeked next to him and caught Lance’s gaze. Something flickered in the ocean blue depths of his eyes, stirring up a flutter of emotions in Keith’s stomach.

“Yeah,” Keith replied, surprising even himself a bit with his answer. He averted his eyes back to the drying rack, seeking a safer view. “I hadn’t really given it too much thought actually, but I was probably gonna stick around for a bit longer.”

“Lance, do you still work there on Mondays?” Shiro asked.

Lance nodded, expression brightening noticeably. “Yeah, Mote’s got me on volunteer rotation this Monday, so I can totally give you guys a VIP tour.”

“Would you mind?” Shiro asked through a yawn. “I’ve always wanted to go, but haven’t gotten the chance yet.”

“Please come,” Lance begged, spinning on his heel to pin Shiro down with puppy eyes. “You’ll honestly be saving me from toting around clueless families from Idaho and hours of data logging.”

“I’m--” Shiro tried to stifle another yawn, “--down. What do you think, Keith?”

Keith shrugged, drying off the last of the dishes. “Sure. Sounds cool.”

Aquariums weren’t usually Keith’s thing, but looking at Lance’s excited face, he thought that maybe they could be.

“Do you remember where it is, Shiro?”

But only a quiet snoring answered Lance. Keith peeked across the kitchen and spotted his brother, still sprawled on the couch, but head thrown back against the cushions, eyes closed.

Keith snorted. “What a geezer.”

Hunk gasped in mock affront. “Hey, respect your elders! He needs rest.”

“Yeah, but probably because he spent almost two hours trying to photograph his prosthetic next to the fire last night.”

“Oh!” Lance fished his phone out of his pocket, tapping and scrolling a few times before turning it toward Keith and Hunk. “You mean this photo?”

Keith squinted at the screen, taking in the grainey fire light, the wobbly outline of Shiro’s prosthetic stuck hand-up in the sand, and a smattering of haphazardly placed seashells around it.

“It’s things like this that make me question if we’re actually related,” Keith said, shaking his head. He noted the little check mark icon on Shiro’s Instagram profile and slid his eyes over to Lance. “You follow my brother on Instagram?”

Lance locked his phone screen, pocketing it with a shrug. “Sometimes he posts selfies.”

“Of course,” Keith scoffed, but there was no malice in it. “Anyways, I’m sure we can just Google Maps over to the aquarium.”

“I’m so jealous,” Hunk lamented. “Mote’s awesome, and you gotta have Lance show you all the cool stuff. Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll let you feed the turtles.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, looking Lance straight in the eyes. “I don’t know, Hunk. Are turtles really that great?”

Lance gave a dramatic gasp, clutching at his heart, and Keith tried to hide a smile.

“Oh no. You did _not_ just say that about my babies,” Lance said.

Keith shrugged, giving Lance a knowing smirk. “I’m just saying, I don’t know how feeding the turtles could be that exciting.”

“Uh uh. No you don’t,” Lance said, reaching a hand out. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” Keith asked, taken aback at the apparent change of subject.

“Your phone. Hand it over, Kogane. I’m going to text you the time and the place, and you’re going to show up and you’re going to love it.”

Keith looked on skeptically but shifted to grab his phone out of his pocket nonetheless, unlocking it and passing it to Lance.

After a moment, Lance handed it back, and Keith saw the new message window open, a winky face sent to the new number. He glanced up at the name at top.

“And here I thought you’d just use an eggplant emoji,” Keith said, smiling at the “Sharkboi” in sans serif font, followed by a series of alternating shark and turtle emojis.

“Oh please, Mullet,” Lance said, he and Hunk packing away the final odds and ends of the sleepover into bags. “Did you really think I was that basic? Give me _some_ credit.”

Keith smirked. “Yet the best thing you could come up with to call me is ‘Mullet.’”

Lance stopped what he was doing to narrow his eyes at Keith. He waved a threatening hand in Keith’s direction, though the effect was mitigated by the fact that he was still holding a jar of cinnamon. “You trying to tell me the atrocious thing you call a hairstyle is not a mullet?”

Keith shrugged, crossing his arms and cocking his head. “Careful there, Sanchez. You keep talking about my hair and someone’s going to think you actually like it.”

Distantly, Keith heard the “ooooh” Hunk gave in response, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Lance. Lance, whose chin was tilted in challenge as he appraised Keith’s hair, which had been swept up into a low ponytail, loose wisps hanging around his cheeks and neck. Lance, whose gaze felt smoldering as it wandered to his whole body. Keith felt pulled in by those eyes again, some kind of electricity crackling between them.

Even Keith couldn’t convince himself this was a look shared between friends, but neither of them seemed to want to pull away.

Hunk coughed gently into his hand. “Well, we should probably go before we accidentally wake Shiro up.” He pointed to where Shiro was conked out on the couch, head thrown back and mouth hanging open.

Keith shook his head fondly. “Oh no, he’s out. He’ll wake up in about an hour complaining about his neck pain.”

“We really should be heading home, though,” Lance said turning towards the front door, and Keith didn’t feel a stab of disappointment make its way through his ribs. He _didn’t_.

“Okay,” Keith said, trying to sound more casual than he felt. Despite everything he thought he knew about himself, he realized that he had enjoyed Lance and Hunk’s company and was reluctant to see them go. A sort of spell had been cast over that bonfire that had lasted all through the morning, and Keith was afraid that that feeling of contentment, that kind of inner peace even through the turmoil, would leave with them.

God, what had gotten into him?

“I’ll be seeing you on Monday, Mullet, and mark my words, you will change your mind about turtles.”

With that, he opened the door and marched out. Hunk followed with a quick, “Bye, Keith! See you next week!” and he shut the door behind him.

Keith shrugged and walked back to his bedroom, feeling oddly exhausted. The events of the night before and that morning finally caught up to him, and all he wanted to do was take a nap, calm the thoughts that had begun racing through his brain. He turned to collapse in his bed, and paused.

There, laying on his pillow like a hotel chocolate, was a solitary bottle of gatorade.

 

~^~^~^~

 

True to his word, Lance had texted him almost immediately after they had exchanged numbers.

 

 **Sharkboi** **[1:13pm]**

_Mote_

 

 **Sharkboi** **[1:13pm]**

_1pm_

 

 **Sharkboi** **[1:13pm]**

_turtles_

 

Why Lance couldn’t send them in one single message was beyond Keith, but somehow the fact that Lance was a double (triple) texter didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

When Monday rolled around, Keith was feeling restless again, his skin itching with the urge to move, though it no longer felt like the same itch that had been plaguing him the last four years. As he took his increasingly-routine run that morning, calves burning against the drag of the sand, Keith realized that what he was feeling wasn’t the usual anxiousness that came whenever he began to feel life’s walls closing in. Instead, Keith was feeling...dare he say, excited. For once, his impatience wasn’t fueled by the persistent urge to flee but to explore...to stay.

Not to mention, Keith was actually quite enjoying his time with Shiro. He had always been Keith’s rock, his brother in all but name, even before his parents’ accident. And after...well, suffice it to say that Shiro was the only one who could ever talk Keith back from a ledge.

Despite their time apart, there was no one Keith knew better, which was why he didn’t even suggest they take Red to the aquarium. Keith toed the line with the motorcycle where Shiro was concerned--would toe the line with anything less than a ‘proper vehicle’ with four wheels and a roof, honestly. The bike was one of the few long-standing points of contention between the two, but neither pushed on it because they both knew neither would be moved.

So, in the interest of peace, Keith slid into the passenger seat of Shiro’s black Tesla instead, waiting in wry amusement as the butterfly doors descended to close.

“Are these really necessary?” Keith grumbled.

“Yeah, they activate the flux capacitor,” Shiro said, starting the nearly silent car.

“You’re such a dork, you know that, right?”

Shiro shrugged, placing a hand on the seat behind Keith and turning to look out the rear window and slowly backing out of the Altea parking lot. “It’s just part of my charm.”

Keith waited until Shiro had pulled out of the space completely before saying, “Allura tell you that?”

Shiro’s hand fumbled briefly on the gearshift, and Keith noticed his face flushing a bright red. Keith smirked, though his victory was short-lived.

“Glass houses, my friend,” Shiro shot back, recovering quickly and putting the car into gear. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you running out of the house without your shoes on the other day. That reeks of good, old-fashioned gay panic, Keith.”

“Whatever,” Keith huffed, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat, bitter that his brother could read him so easily.

Despite acting like an eighty-year-old in every other aspect of his life, Shiro drove with an easy confidence, efficiently navigating around the more geriatric motorists. At first, Keith thought that Shiro was maybe taking the scenic route, but then again, almost everything around here could be considered a scenic route. Keith pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and let himself soak in the details of the drive, the bright glare flashing off the hood of the car, the over-saturated glimpses of beach, ocean, and palms. With the radio playing softly in the background and the A/C gently blowing on his face, it was almost too easy to lose track of time. So much so, in fact, that they arrived at the aquarium with hardly any time having seemed to pass at all.

Keith stepped out of the car, shielding his eyes against the sun as he squinted up at the building.

Most of the facade was covered in some kind of tropical foliage, but the big blue letters spelling out MOTE MARINE LABORATORY AND AQUARIUM were unobscured. It looked well-maintained, the slight industrial quality showing no sign of wear or rust. Next to the entrance was a permanent booth with a sign advertising glass-bottom boat tours and snorkelling trips. Keith glanced further back, noticing a ramp and a dock right out to the water where a decently-sized boat bobbed in the gentle waves.

It was a rather visceral reaction, but Keith couldn’t help but to think that the combination of the cement, the water, and the greenery all screamed Lance.

 _It suits him_.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Shiro said, placing his hands on his hips and giving the building a once-over.

Shit. Keith hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He hadn’t even meant to think it, but the thought had wormed its way in the way all thoughts concerning Lance did. But just because Keith was aware of the embarrassing amount of time he spent thinking about Lance, that didn’t mean he wanted his brother to be aware too.

“You coming?”

Keith started at that, eyes snapping to where Shiro stood halfway across the parking lot. He shook himself out of his strange daze and moved to catch up. He spotted Shiro smirking out of the corner of his eye and threw an elbow into his side.

“Shove it, Shiro.”

His merely chuckled, however. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“You were thinking it,” Keith muttered, marching through the front doors.

They approached the counter to buy their tickets but one mention of Lance’s name and Shiro’s card was waved away. The girl at the front desk placed two grey and blue vouchers on the counter.

“These will get you into both the aquarium and the mammal rescue across the street,” she said, pointing back out towards the parking lot, “so be sure you don’t lose them. I think Lance said to meet him by the shark exhibit, so just follow the hall out to the covered area around the corner. You can’t miss it.”

Shiro nodded, handing the tickets to Keith and reaching into his pockets to pull out his wallet. He grabbed a $50 bill and stuck it into the donations jar and Keith watched in amusement as the girls eyes widened in surprise.

The two entered into the main aquarium, winding their way through tall, backlit tanks of jellyfish, camouflaged seahorses, a neon green moray eel, and brightly colored tropical fish. Beyond the main tanks, Keith could see a glaring sliver of daylight coming through a door, a large shark decal marking the way to the rest of the exhibits.

Keith edged around a large display, barely sparing a glance for the preserved giant squid within, before exiting into a sun-drenched open-air space. He looked around, going so far as to stand on his toes to try and spot the shark tank, but before them was a maze of more tanks, and wall panels with educational information. The girl did say they couldn’t miss it, right?

“Well someone’s an eager beaver,” Shiro said with an obnoxiously knowing smile.

Keith stared at his brother. “Did you seriously just say the words ‘eager beaver’ unironically?”

Shiro shrugged, pretending to examine an exhibit on tides. “Just calling ‘em like I see ‘em. You seem impatient, is all.”

“I’m always impatient,” Keith shot back.

“Sure,” Shiro said, though Keith recognized the tell-tale trailing off that meant his brother wasn’t finished. True to form, after a moment he spoke again. “You do seem to have calmed down a bit since coming here, though.”

Keith recoiled, his nose scrunching up as he ploughed ahead. Had he? Had he given into the lazy Floridian way of life after just two weeks? It certainly didn’t feel that way. The drivers were still too slow and the air was still too damn hot, but still… Keith wasn’t so oblivious that he couldn’t admit to himself how at home he was beginning to feel.

That his brother noticed was...concerning, to say the least.

Keith chose not to respond, instead rounding yet another corner, and a sizeable, open space with what had to be the shark tank in the center, spread out before them.

“That must be it,” Keith said, walking ahead of Shiro as he shook his head.

The large oblong tank took up most of this section of the aquarium and definitely had the most people around it, the view windows set into the glass allowing visitors to peek in on the sharks swimming lazily within. A set of stairs to the side led up to a second level observation deck, where guests could also look down into the water from above. It was up there that Keith spotted Lance.

He had his back turned to Keith and Shiro, forearms leaning on the tank’s railing as he stared down into the water. He turned his head, eyes tracing the path of a shark fin as it cut across the surface of the water, and the light refracting off the little waves danced in arcs across Lance’s face.

Keith was struck by the beauty of the scene, the composition of it all, but the longer he looked the more he realized something was just a bit out of focus.  

There was no smile on Lance’s face, and the corners of his mouth were pinched and drawn in, and even from this distance, Keith could see the tightness around his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. Lance tapped out an almost frenetic rhythm on the metal railing surrounding the tank, but Keith sensed it was different from Lance’s usual restlessness, could feel the tension radiating off of him in waves.

Keith hung back, Lance’s off-putting expression stopping him from just marching up the stairs. His brother, however, didn’t seem to have the same reservations.

“Hey, Lance!” Shiro called, waving his prosthetic so it glinted in the sun.

Lance swung his head around then, standing up straight as soon as he saw them.

Shiro jaunted up the concrete steps, Keith following cautiously behind him. There definitely was something not quite right about the smile Lance gave them. It wasn’t tense, like what Keith had been feeling from him, but neither was it the easy smile Keith had come to know. This smile was bright, yes, but it felt more like the smile Lance gave his resort guests when he was at the end of a shift.

“Keith! Shiro! You made it!”

There was something weird about the way he said their names, too. Maybe it was _because_ he said their names and not “Muscles” or “Mullet.”

And maybe Keith was overthinking the whole thing.

“We’re not late are we?” Shiro asked.

“Nope!” Lance said too brightly. “You're right on time--well, actually you're a little early, but that's fine! You got the tickets I left for you right? Well, of course you got them you're here aren't you? Silly question sorry. You wouldn’t be able to get in if you--”

“Lance,” Shiro said, stopping Lance mid-ramble. “Is everything...okay?”

Lance’s jaw snapped shut, and Keith saw the moment something shuttered across his eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, so fast that Keith had to wonder if he had imagined it.

“Yeah, I’m—uh, I’m fine,” Lance said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Just excited to show you guys around is all.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asked. _You’re acting strange_.

“Yup! Totally good. Great, even. So,” Lance clapped his hands together, “let’s get going. Follow me.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, trying to puzzle out what had just happened, sharing a glance with Shiro, whose own brow scrunched in speculation. Keith raised an eyebrow in question, but Shiro didn’t seem to have any more of a clue than Keith did, studying the back of Lance’s head as he descended the stairs. Shrugging, he motioned to Keith over his shoulder as he followed Lance down to the main exhibit floor.

“So Mote’s divided into two parts, and this is the main aquarium, obviously,” Lance began, leading them back towards the front entrance. “There’s the turtle and marine mammal exhibits across the street, but I thought I’d start here if that was okay with you guys?”

Keith blinked. Why did Lance sound so...uncertain?

“Don’t you give tours here all the time?” Keith asked, genuinely curious. “Just do what you normally do.”

“If you’re sure? I don’t want you to get bored.”

“I wasn’t bored when you cried about sharks in Spanish and I don’t even speak Spanish,” Keith said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Lance gave Keith an indecipherable look. It was one Keith would’ve had trouble deciphering even in broad daylight, let alone in the dim lights next to the jellyfish tank. After a long moment, Lance seemed to come to a decision, taking a breath. “Right. You’re right. Okay, one VIP tour, coming up.”

Without further preamble, Lance led them through the maze of illuminated tanks and exhibits, rattling off a remarkable array of details for each and every one. Keith couldn’t deny that it was impressive. How Lance could remember even the most mundane of facts about what qualifies as plankton was beyond him. If anything, it showed without a doubt the passion that Lance had for anything even remotely related to the ocean.

But still, Keith couldn’t shake his hunch that there was something off about the way Lance was acting. Keith didn’t feel so much like a friend as he did any other aquarium guest. Whenever Lance smiled it felt forced, his jokes rehearsed, his demeanor fabricated. At one point, Keith tripped and almost fell face-first into the interactive touch tank, and Lance said _nothing_. No quip about his clumsiness, no joke about how Keith must have been really eager to dive right in, nothing. Just a steadying hand that was gone before Keith could blink.

While Keith was not entirely unfamiliar with Lance acting strangely, this was a far cry from the boy who argued over the moral integrity of eating pickles and proper french toast etiquette.

What made it worse was that Keith would swear that he saw the brief flickers of teasing in Lance’s eyes, moments when Lance would be on the verge of commenting on Keith’s constant complaining about his phone camera quality, or on Shiro’s joke about losing an arm in a shark attack. Keith could see the exact instance in which Lance would be ready to speak, response sitting on the tip of his tongue, and then he simply...wouldn’t.

Quite honestly, it made Keith want to tear his hair out. Had he not shared that look by the shark tank with Shiro, Keith might’ve been able to convince himself that he was imagining things. But every now and again, he would catch Shiro regarding Lance with a slight frown when Lance wasn’t looking. When they finally began the trek across the street towards the turtle and mammal exhibit, Keith relished the reprieve from Lance’s relentless tour-guide politeness as he fell a step behind.

Shiro, bless his Dad-like nature, kept up a string of idle chatter with Lance as they walked, asking him questions about the aquarium, the work they do--basically, all the types of questions one who had been paying attention would ask. Admittedly, Keith had only been half listening the past few hours, too busy trying to puzzle out this newest of Lances, this cautious, unsure boy who did everything haltingly. Keith had been prepared for an over-exuberant Lance brimming with energy as he towed him and Shiro on a hectic march from exhibit to exhibit, but not one who did everything as half himself.

What had changed? Had something happened? Keith may not have been that well-versed in reading people, but even he could tell that the triple texting Lance had done all through Saturday and Sunday was at odds with how he was acting now.

However, as they followed the kitschy drawings of manatees and turtles etched into the sidewalk, Keith noticed that Lance’s steps became bouncier, a certain, familiar excitement infecting his every move. The reason became apparent as soon as they entered into another open space filled with open-topped tanks of bright green-blue water.

“So this might be my favorite part of the aquarium,” Lance said, gently trailing his fingers across the rim of each turtle tank they passed. He rapped his knuckles twice against one tank in particular. “Normally, I’d introduce you to my girl Edgar, but she’s getting a check-up today so she’s not in her tank.”

“Do turtles even get sick?” Shiro asked.

Lance spun on one heel, planting his hands on his hips in a manner reminiscent of a school teacher. “Yes, and we take turtle health very seriously around here.”

Shiro raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I would never insinuate otherwise. You guys do great work. I heard that the turtle nest numbers were on the rise this year.”

For the first time all day, Keith saw Lance’s face fill with true joy, his eyes sparking as if lit from behind. “Yeah, actually they are! It’s made getting up at the ass-crack of dawn on Sundays more heartening that’s for sure. Anyways--” Lance sighed dramatically at the empty tank, in the most Lance-like gesture Keith had seen yet, “--since my darling dearest Edgar isn’t here, there are two other friends I want you to meet.”

Lance led them across the way a bit towards a much taller exhibit, the deep water shimmering brightly in vibrant jewel tones. He walked right up to the tank’s glass, peering in with an intense focus, eyes searching knowingly through the murky green water.

“What’re we looking for?” Shiro mimicked Lance’s search, shading his face with hands.

“Just wait for it.”

Lance didn’t take his eyes off the water as he replied, and Keith didn’t take his eyes off of Lance. In hindsight, Keith was definitely staring. Full-on, highly-intensive, borderline creepy staring. But really, who could blame him? Because in that moment, in that exact spot, with the light filtering through the water in slanted rays of stardust and swirling particles, the light blue of his shirt glowing vibrantly against the tan of his skin, and his eyes skimming across the far reaches of the tank with a surety that something was coming, Lance had never looked more real to Keith. More vital. More Lance.

This, Keith was sure, was a Lance who few ever got to see. A Lance who could look into something so unclear and dark with the belief that what he was looking for would come to greet him. A Lance whose eyes sparked back the light of the sun with an intensified reflection because he was doing what he loved. And this, Keith reminded himself, was probably not even the full effect, the complete and unfiltered version that Lance was capable of being.

Keith’s fingers itched for his camera, his mind already racing through settings and angles. As it was, his hands reached into his pocket and before he knew it, he was swiping into his camera app, willing to make do with a phone picture over nothing at all. He lined up the shot, Lance in three-quarters profile, a sliver of refracted light slicing across his cheekbones. He tapped on the screen, but froze when the synthetic sound of a shutter instantaneously followed.

Lance’s head whipped around, eyes flying wide in surprise.

“What’re you doing?”

Had Keith been prepared for the possibility of being caught, he might’ve tried to wheedle himself out of the situation with an excuse of Lance just being in the way, or that he was simply trying to take a test shot first. But as it was, Keith hadn’t entirely prepared for taking the photo in the first place, the need to take the shot practically overriding everything else.

Keith saw no point in lying, so he merely shrugged and pocketed his phone before his hands betrayed him once more. “You looked good and the lighting was right.”

Lance, for once, didn’t seem to have a lengthy response at the ready. Instead, he cleared his throat, eyes darting back to the tank, a muttered, “thanks,” slipping out from behind his fist.

Shiro had also turned to look over at Keith, a curious look on his face, but his trademark knowing grin was oddly absent. Keith met his brother’s stare with as blank of a look as he could muster in the moment, hoping that his expression wasn’t betraying at all the furious beating of his heart.

Luckily, two looming, dark shapes formed in the far corner of the tank, eliciting an excited, albeit slightly tight, exclamation from Lance.

“There they are! Keith, Shiro, meet Hugh and Buffett, our resident manatees.”

Keith watched in wonder as one of the manatees moved through the water to glide by the front of the tank, its large grey form surprisingly graceful as it cut through the water.

“Oh my god, they’re so fat,” Keith whispered reverently as the second manatee floated up towards where the surface of the water was littered with lettuce.

Honestly, Keith was surprised. He’d never seen a manatee in person before, and he had thought that the stylized cutesy keychains were over-exaggerated misrepresentations. But really, they were just that fucking cute. Maybe a bit larger than he had expected, but that really only made them cuter.

“You take that back, Kogane,” Lance said, not taking his eyes off of the two manatees but pointing to an informational plaque to the right of the tank. “They are the perfect size.”

“Yeah, Keith, stop body-shaming,” Shiro said, ambling up to the plaque to take a look.

Keith was all ready with a retort, but one of the manatees had swum straight towards the glass, not slowing down. Keith could have sworn he heard a little cartoon _honk_ sound as the manatee’s nose smooshed up against the tank.

“That’s fucking adorable,” Keith said.

Lance sighed fondly, placing his hand on the glass where the manatee had booped it. “Yeah, that’s Buffett. He’s a little blind, and more than a little stupid, but that’s just a part of his charm.”

Keith snorted. “Oh, so I can’t call them fat but you can call them stupid? I’m sensing some double standards here.”

“Hey,” Lance said, raising a finger dramatically, “I only state facts and the fact of the matter is, Buffett is dumb as a bag of bricks. But he’s by no means fat.”

“I agree with Lance,” Shiro piped up, eyes still glued to the information board. “Besides, he has a whole plaque to back him up.”

Keith slid an accusing glare in his brother’s direction. “Shiro, literally no one asked.”

Shiro placed a hand on his chest in mock affront. “Is that any way to treat your elders, Keith?”

“You’re still in your twenties,” Keith deadpanned, standing back up.

“Physically, maybe,” Lance noted, “but spiritually, he’s at least sixty. Like Captain America.”

Shiro frowned, lifting his prosthetic. “Technically, I’m more like the Winter Soldier.”

Lance stepped back, crossing his arms and giving Shiro a once-over. “With that Dorito physique? No way.”

Keith couldn’t help the snort of amusement that escaped his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, a note of something dangerously close to fondness slipping through.

He watched as a pretty kind of blush crept its way up Lance’s cheeks, the corners of Lance’s mouth twitching up like he was fighting a smile. But then, that same something from before shuttered across his gaze, and the walls went back up. The softness vanished from his face, brows knitting together.

Keith felt a twinge of disappointment bolt through his chest when Lance looked away, jaw tensing. They had agreed on friends, and on Saturday, Keith had thought they were making pretty good strides towards that, but the Lance he saw today was a far cry from who he had come to know.

After spending a few more minutes with the manatees, he led Keith and Shiro through the rest of Mote, stopping every now and again to point out certain inhabitants, or tell them more about all the other things the aquarium did. If Keith hadn’t been so preoccupied with trying to sort out Lance’s odd behavior, he might have been more impressed by the wide array of conservation and research efforts that the center was involved in.

As it was, by the time they rounded back to the main building, Keith could only recall about a third of what Lance had said and fuck if you asked him about any of the other exhibits he had seen. Honestly, he had spent most of his time wondering if he was imagining all the awkward pauses and silences filling the spaces where there would have usually been playful ribbing. At first, Keith might have chalked it up to Lance wanting to maintain a professional persona at work, but then again, that had never exactly stopped him from engaging in his normally exuberant behavior at Altea.

Lance walked with Keith and Shiro as far as the edge of the parking lot, pausing just shy of the divide between black pavement and sun-bleached cement. He reach a hand up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, a rather sheepish look on his face.  

“Thanks again for coming out, guys,” he said. “You actually did save me from an afternoon of data filing, so I really enjoyed getting to show you around. I hope I didn’t bore you or anything.”

Keith blinked in surprise. He may not have been paying attention half the time, but that certainly wasn’t because Lance was _boring_. Quite the opposite, really. It was beginning to be a problem.

“Are you serious?” Keith asked, a confused sort of wonder laced through his voice. “That was anything but boring, Lance. You have a real knack for this stuff.” Keith may not have been able to remember everything from the tour, but Lance’s passion and knowledge were pretty hard to overlook.  

Shiro nodded in agreement. “Keith’s right. I think I learned more from you today than I did in some of my college courses.”

Lance blushed and Keith tried not to think about how flattering it looked on him.

“Oh, well, thank you. You guys are welcome back any time.”

Keith caught Lance’s gaze and, for a moment, the air softened between the two of them. Lance’s eyes grew warmer, tiny lines crinkling into appearance around them as his mouth ticked up just a bit in the corner. Keith could feel his own features mirroring Lance’s, an almost uncontrollable response, but then Lance’s expression shifted once more, that slim moment of openness cutting off before the rest of his face transformed into yet another mask.

“Well, I better get back,” he said, gesturing strangely with his thumb in the general direction of the main building. “Sharks to feed and all that.”

Keith bit back a sigh. “Well, we’ll probably see you around tomorrow right?”

“Huh?”

“At the resort?”

Lance blinked. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah, of course.”

Seriously, this was strange, wasn’t it? Surely things hadn’t been this...awkward before. Keith looked to Shiro to see if he was just as confused as Keith felt, but his brother merely waved Lance off with a bemused expression.

“See you, Lance.”

With a final wave and a cheesy thumbs up, Lance turned around and walked back into the aquarium.

Keith followed Shiro back to the car, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt before turning to his brother.

“That was weird, right? Even for Lance?”

Shiro pursed his lips in thought as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. It was only until they were properly on the road back to Altea that he spoke. “It certainly wasn’t normal, I’ll say that much.”

“Hmm…” Keith tapped a finger on his knee, watching as rows of palm trees passed. “Should we be worried?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Shiro replied, stopping smoothly at a red light. “I’ve known Lance a few years now, and whatever’s happening, he’ll tell us in his own time.”

“So you think something’s happened?”

Shiro looked over and met Keith’s gaze. “Maybe. But we need to be careful. You of all people should know you can’t force people to open up if they don’t want to.”

The light turned green, saving Keith from holding his brother’s rather penetrating stare any longer, but it didn’t stop his words from cutting deeper than Keith had expected.

He stared out the window, concern and confusion playing a game of tug-of-war at his mouth and brows. There had to be something more going on, because Lance _had_ opened up already. Or at least, he had started to. Keith had felt something important between them that night, something close to trust, and whatever happened between then and now had forced that wall of masks up again. Keith could practically feel the resolve to tear them down solidifying in his chest.

He might not have come down here with the intention to dig this deep, but something about Lance was making it too hard not to anymore.

 

~^~^~^~

 

The next couple of days Keith spent...rather pleasantly, despite his lingering concerns over Lance’s behavior. He finally caught up on his outstanding freelance commissions and even skimmed through some new requests, though none of them seemed interesting enough to immediately pull him away from Arus. He put laundry away--though he could barely fill two of the dresser drawers with all that he had brought--spent time with Shiro, and generally let himself revel in the sensation of being comfortable for once.

He continued to go on his morning runs up and down the beach, but everyday it felt less like something done in response to the itch lingering under his skin, and more like the beginnings of a routine. A facet of life in Arus.

Even the people were becoming routine as Keith found himself hanging out more with Hunk and Pidge on the pool deck. Of course, Lance was there too but it twisted sharply in Keith’s chest to see that he was still acting flighty around him. After the aquarium, he might have been able to convince himself that Lance was feeling off that day, or that Keith was just completely overthinking the entire thing, but his conversation in the car with Shiro kept coming back on repeat in his mind. Add to that the first ten minutes he had spent hanging out with Hunk, Pidge, and Lance all together after Monday and Keith’s suspicion that something was up was only further solidified.

Keith had dragged himself up onto the pool deck after his run one morning, intent on begging a glass of cold water off of Hunk, when he saw Pidge tucked away into a corner, furiously typing onto a laptop. Keith peeked over the tiny ginger’s shoulder, curiosity getting the better of him, and saw a rather dense screen full of HTML and other various codes. One question led to another and before Keith knew it, his own photography website was pulled up on Pidge’s computer, and their mouth was flying a mile a minute, pointing out every flaw they saw fit to critique.

It was in the middle of this tirade that Lance had approached the bar, empty drink tray in hand.

“And what the hell is this, Kogane?” Pidge had exclaimed. “Is this a custom mouse icon? Are you serious? What is this, MySpace circa two-thousand-and-three? Lance!” Pidge waved a hand frantically, green bracelet jumping sporadically up and down their arm. “Lance, look at this shit and back me up! There’s Comic Sans on here. _Comic Sans_!”

Lance ambled over to the computer, an oddly cautious look on his face.

“I told you,” Keith grumbled, “I didn’t even make this site. I paid a friend who knew some basic coding and called it a day.”

Pidge pushed their glasses into place, an indignant look on their face. “Well you should sue for sabotage or attempted fiscal murder or _something_ , because I don’t know how the fuck you’ve been getting clients with a website like this. Lance,” Pidge thumped him in the chest where he was standing behind them, “please tell him I’m right. He’ll listen to you.”

Lance scratched at this chin in demure thought. “I mean, it’s not the _worst_ thing I’ve ever seen. Keith’s photos are the main focus anyways and those are, um, you know, really really good--oh Hunk! You finished the drinks already. Be back guys.” And with that he scurried off, tray refilled with brightly colored cocktails.

Keith had looked between Pidge and Hunk for an answer, hoping that their reactions would belay his worries that this wasn’t normal behavior for Lance. Yet, they had seemed just as puzzled as Keith, watching after Lance as he flitted between lounge chairs, that infuriatingly fake smile plastered on his face again.

The rest of the day had passed in half-conversations and thwarted attempts at trying to draw a more Lance-like response out of the boy himself, but to no avail.

Keith sighed as he shoved a dresser drawer closed, letting the motion take the memory with it. Clearly Lance was going through something right now, but it probably had nothing at all to do with Keith, and he was just thinking way too much into it. Besides they were just friends, right? Lance had made that boundary clear on Saturday. Keith was concerned, sure, but he tried to pacify himself with the fact that he only had about three weeks of background knowledge to work with. He didn’t know the full story, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that that was part of his problem. He wanted to know more.

A buzz at Keith’s back pocket drew him back to the present, and he fished out the offending device, a new message lighting up the lock screen.

 

 **Future PhD** **[2:13pm]**

_you’re late and it’s fucking hot_

_if ur not here in 5 mins I will let you suffer in comic sans hell for all time_

 

Keith snorted and typed out a quick reply before gathering his things and heading out the door. He found Pidge in the same corner of the bar they always occupied, but this time a small, neon green desk fan was sitting next to their laptop, aimed directly at their face.

Hunk lifted a suds-covered hand from the sink in greeting. “Hey, Keith!”

“Hi, guys.” He swung his backpack off his shoulder and onto the bar stool next to Pidge.

“Sweet baby jesus, it’s about time,” Pidge grumbled.

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure why you’re so concerned. It’s _my_ website.”

“Yeah, your shitty website that’s older than dial-up and offensive to the eye. I’m doing you a favor here, and Shiro would tell you it’s good business practice to be on time,” Pidge said, not even bothering to wait for Keith to sit down next to them before pulling up the website’s code.

“Yeah fine,” Keith said, feigning disgruntlement, but he could feel the tug on his lips as he resisted a smile.

While Pidge continued to plug away at his code, occasionally offering unsolicited--but astute--commentary on exactly how horribly designed his website was, Keith couldn’t help but to come back to the question he had been pondering all week--Lance.

There wasn’t even a real question he was trying to answer, no way to ask ‘What’s wrong with you’ without it sounding like an attack. He had tried to brush it off, had attempted to ignore the weird behavior at the aquarium and then the resort over the past week, but his mind had a way of snagging on all things Lance.

The boy in question was currently keeping himself intensely busy, flitting from tables to chairs to bar, his tray seeming to never leave his hands for more than a few moments. Keith could feel the frown pulling at his mouth as he followed Lance across the pool deck with his eyes.

A sharp elbow jabbed into Keith’s ribs, jolting his attention back to the bar.

“Are you even paying attention?” Pidge demanded. “I’m basically giving you a free coding lesson and you’re busy watching that doofus carry over-priced drinks to even bigger doofuses.”

Keith straightened in his chair, turning back to Pidge’s laptop. “Sorry,” he muttered, doing his not to sound overly guilty at being caught. “It’s just--ugh, okay. Is this normal? For Lance I mean. I feel like something’s up. He hasn’t been talking to me, at least not in his usual way. It’s not like he seems _mad_ exactly, but also it doesn’t seem like he’s himself? Does that make sense?”

At this point, Keith wasn’t even looking at Hunk and Pidge, helpless as the words he’d kept at bay all week spilled out of him.

“I mean, first, he says he wants to kiss me, and then he says we should be friends instead, but this doesn’t feel like friends when he won’t even look at me for more than three seco--”

“What?!” came the simultaneous shouts of Hunk and Pidge.

Keith’s rambling came to a screeching halt as he realized what he’d said.

“He said he wanted to kiss you?” Hunk asked, voice hushed as he leaned forward across the bar, heedless of the water soaking into his apron. “At the bonfire?”

Keith flushed as he felt the full force of Hunk’s stare, but he nodded slowly. There wasn’t any use in trying to take it back.

“You wanted to kiss him back?”

Keith nodded again, more stiffly this time.

“And then he didn’t?” Pidge chimed in.

Keith shook his head. “He said we should be friends instead.”

Pidge let out a swear that had the woman further down the bar covering her child’s ears and sending them a look that could kill. “This fucking boy,” they muttered.

“I take it this doesn’t come as a surprise to either of you then?” Keith looked between Hunk and Pidge, trying to keep the knots in his stomach calm. Hunk was sporting a rather impressive pout, lips twisted entirely to one side, but Pidge shook their head in exasperation and leveled Keith with a no-nonsense stare.

“Okay, here’s the thing. Lance is being stupid, undeniably stupid, but reasonably so.”

“So...he’s being reasonably stupid?”

“He’s stupid, but he has his reasons.” Pidge shrugged. “It’s not really my story to tell.”

Keith cupped his chin in his hand, elbow planted on the bar. “Yeah, that’s not really clearing anything up for me you know.”

“It’s not meant to,” they said matter-of-factly. “Like I said, it’s not my place.”

It was at that moment that Keith realized just how much Lance meant to these two. If Hunk, a known gossip, and Pidge, blackmailer extraordinaire, were unwilling to say anything, then Keith wasn’t going to hear it from them, end of story.

Though his curiosity was piqued even more than before, there was also a certain feeling of relief that came with the knowledge that he wasn’t just making it all up, or overthinking things.

“So...what should I do?” Keith asked, and even he could hear the helplessness threading through his tone.

Hunk gave him a pitying glance. “Honestly, Keith, we’re sort of in the same boat. I have a hunch on what this is all about, but Lance hasn’t said anything to me or Pidge, and until he does, it’s usually best to let him sort things out on his own.”

Keith tried not to make a face at that, but clearly he failed.

“Yeah,” Hunk laughed gently, “I know, it sucks. But like Pidge said, if he’s acting the way he is, then he’s got his reasons. If you really do like him--which I suspect you do--you’ll have to give him a little space. He’ll come around.”

Keith felt pinned by the collective stare of Pidge and Hunk, sensing that fierce and unyielding protective streak.

“Alright,” Keith said after a moment. “I’ll trust you on this.”

“Trust them on what?” Lance asked, bounding up to the bar with his tray of empty glasses.

Keith couldn’t help the involuntary skipping of his heart at Lance’s approach, anymore than he could help the waves beating against the shore. It was just a fact of nature at this point.

His brain scrambled for some plausible excuse, but Pidge jumped in.

“That a dark background is so much better than whatever this red atrocity is.”

Lance’s nose scrunched up. “Red? Really, Mullet? Who are you, Martin Scorsese?”

“What’s wrong with red?” Keith bristled, though his mild irritation was overshadowed by a feeling a bit like hope, catching a glimpse of the Lance he had come to miss.

And all at once, those hopes were dashed with Lance’s next response.

“Oh. Um, nothing I guess? It’s a uh...it’s a nice color.”

Keith didn’t miss the sigh coming from Hunk or the pointed look Pidge gave Lance.

Lance cleared his throat. “Anyways, I got a text from Nyma about a tourney later tonight and she really needs a partner--something about a potential sponsor?--Pidge, would you be able to drive me down there? Hunk and I carpooled today.”

“As long as you don’t complain about my driving,” Pidge said. “I’m not a ‘northern devil.’”

“You really are,” Lance said, ruffling Pidge’s hair. “But I still love you.”

Pidge swatted his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But you--” they pointed a menacing finger at Hunk “--better have finally asked Shay out if you’re saddling me with Lance.”

Keith drummed his fingers on the bar top in thought. “Isn’t Shay the one who works the front desk? The same one you were getting ice cream with on Tuesday, right, Hunk?”

Hunk’s face flushed a deep burgundy as Pidge and Lance both whipped their heads around, a shrill “What!?” on both their tongues.

Keith looked away, clearing his throat. “Oh. It was secret ice cream…”

“You all need to stop with the surprises, okay? I’m limiting you to one shock per day,” Pidge said, rubbing their temples.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Lance draped himself across the bar, practically buzzing with energy. “Tell me everything, right now, or I will renounce our friendship and never speak to you again.”

Though it was a little hard to tell, Keith could see that Hunk was definitely blushing. “I just didn’t want to jinx it.”

“Well shit, Hunk, you’re gonna melt even my heart,” Pidge said, and Keith couldn’t help but agree.

Lance clutched at his chest dramatically. “You’re too pure for this world.”

Hunk busied himself with rearranging the liquor bottles, studiously avoiding anyone’s gaze. “Yes, yes, I’m a flustered Samoan butterfly. Just try and keep this under wraps okay? It’s going really well and I don’t want Allura and Coran to find out just yet. I don’t think I could take sitting through a lecture on dating in the workplace that doubled as a gossip-fueled interrogation.”

“Mums the word.” Lance pantomimed zipping his lips shut.

“We got your back,” Pidge promised. “Now you.” They turned to pin Lance down with a stare, the sun glinting menacingly in their glasses.

Lance looked understandably stricken at receiving such a look. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Pidge said, though the subtle glance they slid Keith’s way implied a certain unsaid ‘yet’ that sent a spike through his heart. “But really, what time do you have to be at the courts. With Rover it’ll probably be a twenty minute drive.” They waved a hand flippantly. “Speed limits and such.”

“By four thirty would be perfect. I figured we could get there early and grab some food.” Lance shifted his weight a bit awkwardly from foot to foot, dropping his gaze to the bar top. “Keith, you’re welcome to join...if you want that is. I know it’s not really your thing, but there’s usually fewer people by the actual water down there, and I know you’ve been trying to get people-less photos, but you had also seemed interested the last time, so umm, yeah.”

Oh, he had been interested all right. Just not in the glorious sport of volleyball. Still…

“Sure,” he replied, feigning a nonchalance that he most certainly did not feel. “I’m gonna run back to the villa though and grab some different lenses,” he continued, sliding off of the barstool and grabbing his camera bag.

He didn’t give himself the chance to see Lance’s response, instead heading for the sidegate by the villas, tossing a “be right back,” over his shoulder as he went.

Keith plowed through the sand a bit rougher than necessary, but he couldn’t stop the loud thud of his heart in time with his steps.

Hunk had said he should let Lance come to him. Fine. Keith could do that. Give him his space, not ask questions. But Lance had also said he wanted to be friends. And Keith wanted that. Wanted that more than he would ever admit out loud. So he would act like a friend, he would continue that same rapport they had built up over the last two weeks, and when Lance was ready to talk, he would listen. Keith just hoped his patience would last as long as Lance needed.

Fifteen minutes later, Keith climbed the steps back to the pool deck, his backpack two lenses and a bottle of water heavier. Lance was nowhere in sight, but Pidge explained that he had run off to change and would meet them by Rover.

Pidge kept up an incessant stream of suggestions for Keith’s website as they wove through the resort and back out the other side towards the parking lot. Keith was not at all versed in the language of HTML or anything even remotely related, but he could at least contribute more to the design and composition of things.

It wasn’t long at all until Lance came out the front doors of Altea, drawstring bag slung over his shoulder, and loose athletic shorts on. Keith’s brain short circuited momentarily, however, as it took him a second to realize Lance wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Lance met his eyes sheepishly, before darting away. “Didn’t have any extras here,” he mumbled quickly.

Keith’s eyes dragged slowly up before catching Lance’s eyes again. “Nice work.”

Lance flushed a deep red, and Keith couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction settling deep in his stomach. So, Lance could dish it out but couldn’t take it?

“Yo, you losers ready yet?” Pidge called from the driver’s seat, and Lance shook his head as if to clear it.

“Yeah yeah, I’m here. Let’s go.”

Pidge barely waited for Lance to hop into the back of Rover before gunning it out of the parking lot. Keith still wasn’t sure how a golf cart was able to go so fast, but after three weeks of being around Pidge, he decided not to question it.

As soon as they made it to the courts, Lance jumped out of the cart and jogged towards where Nyma was stretching on an empty court, greeting her with a hug.

A pang of _something_ hit Keith in the stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but it was close enough. Lance was just so comfortable around Nyma, despite the knowledge of an old crush hanging over the two of them. Clearly, he was capable of being just friends with her, so Keith had to wonder why it was so hard with him.

Dwelling on all of this obviously wasn’t doing Keith any good, so he threw himself into his photography instead, fiddling with his lenses as the other players trickled in. There weren’t nearly as many people there as the last time, and Keith decided to take advantage of that, getting in close to capture some new angles.

Inevitably, he found himself drawn to Lance more and more, mesmerized by the serious expression on his face, the explosiveness of his movements, and, admittedly, the flexing of his lean muscles.

Yet, without fail, every picture, even the ones taken in bursts with high shutter speeds and wide aperture diameters, were blurry. There was not a single photo of Lance that captured the moment in perfect stillness.

He scoured his memory card for just one clear photo as he made his way back to where Pidge was parked by the benches, but to no avail. Either a hand, a foot, an entire arm, or his face had been out of focus when the shutter closed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Pidge asked, and Keith didn’t even blink when she handed him a drink from the cooler.

Keith sighed, flopping down onto the bench and shoving the camera display in Pidge’s face. “This.”

They squinted at the screen, brow furrowing. “Lance? What did he do this time?”

Keith cracked open the bottle and took a long drag. “He won’t stop fucking moving. I had to set my camera to ‘nervous squirrel in a park’ mode, but they’re all still a little bit off.”

“Can’t you simply adjust the settings or something?”

“I did,” Keith lamented. “I’m gonna need to buy a high speed sports camera at this point.”

“I thought you didn’t photograph people in your own work,” Lance’s voice sounded from behind, causing Keith to turn quickly.

Lance was flushed from playing, sand sticking to his arms and legs, sweat dripping down his neck and chest. A younger Keith probably would have lost his shit entirely, but somehow he managed to keep it together.

“Usually I don’t,” Keith agreed, looking Lance in the eye and tilting his chin defiantly.

Lance met his gaze, a soft “oh,” of surprise leaving his lips.

Keith could practically see Lance’s cogs turning as he tried to puzzle out exactly what was meant by that, but the moment was cut short when Nyma called to Lance from the courts, flagging him over for their next game.

“Ah, gotta go. Oh, and Keith?” Lance paused, putting a hand on his hip. “Try and get my good side.”

Keith snorted. “And what side would that be?”

Lance threw him a grin. “The left obviously,” he said, before jogging off back to the courts.

Keith rolled his eyes fondly, turning back to grab his camera from Pidge, but he stopped when he saw a rather knowing grin.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” they said, much too casually. “Just...for someone who doesn’t take very many pictures of people, you seem to have an awful lot of ones of Lance.”

Keith felt a hot flush climb his neck, and he looked away, fiddling with the cap on the bottle he had been holding. “Yeah well, he’s a challenge, I guess, I don--Pidge…”

“Keith.”  

“How long have I been drinking this gatorade?”

“How long has Lance been playing volleyball shirtless?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Gremlin.”

Pidge’s grin widened, but they handed back the camera. “Hey, don’t bite the hand that hydrates you.”

Keith stood from the bench, shaking his head as he ventured back out to the courts, Pidge snickering all the while behind him.

He managed to get a handful of decent, people-free landscapes, but, just as before, whenever he attempted a photo of Lance, _something_ was inevitably wrong. After about the five hundredth photo, Keith gave up, swearing to try again another day.

Eventually, the last game came to a close, and Lance re-joined Keith and Pidge, leaving Nyma to chat with a couple of coaches who had approached her. Pidge managed to find a spare towel for Lance in one of Rover’s many compartments so he could brush off the powder fine sand sticking to his skin. Keith did his best to studiously avoid the sight, but couldn’t help sigh a small breath of relief when Lance finally put his work shirt back on.

The drive back to Altea was quiet but comfortable, the warm wind rushing through the golf cart and a playlist of soothing lo-fi trickling through the speakers. By the time they arrived, the sodium-lights were beginning to flicker to life, filling the parking lot with a soft, orange glow. Pidge pulled into a spot with a small, cartoonish sketch of their face chalked into the pavement, hopping out of the driver’s seat with a yawn.

“Lance, you’re good to get home right?” they asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, waving off their question. “Hunk texted saying he and Shay stayed on the island so he’s gonna loop around to grab me.”

“Solid.” Pidge stifled another yawn. “Alright, I’m out. I’ll catch you lesbians later.” And with that, they headed off towards the high-rise, waiving a hand over their head.

Keith waved goodbye as he leaned against Rover and closed his eyes for a moment, letting them rest after an afternoon of peering through a viewfinder.

“What’re you doing?”

Keith squinted one eye open to find Lance studying him with drawn brows.

“Waiting with you,” he replied, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes once more.

“You really don’t have to.”

Keith shrugged. “What are friends for?”

He might’ve imagined it, he might’ve misheard it, but Keith could’ve sworn he heard Lance quietly murmur, “friends.”

“I mean...” Keith opened his eyes, suddenly hesitant. “I can go, if you really want me to?”

“No,” Lance said quickly, words tumbling out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I didn’t want you here. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay. If you really don’t mind waiting, I’d actually like the company.”

Keith smiled softly. “Then I’ll stay.”

Lance nodded, and moved to join Keith in leaning against Rover, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. He really never stopped moving, did he?

A tangible silence hung over the both of them, but Keith didn’t feel the need to break it. It was sort of nice, listening to the distant crash of waves hidden under the hum of overworked air conditioning units.

Keith heard the slight hitch in Lance’s breath, like he couldn’t decide whether or not to speak, but Keith didn’t push him. Instead, he just stood there, waiting but not expecting anything as the nighttime grew in around them.

“So,” Lance said finally, “I, uh, I meant to ask you earlier, actually, but we--that is, Hunk, Pidge, and I--we were planning an impromptu kayaking thing tomorrow, if you wanted to come? Shiro’s invited too, obviously. Duh. Allura’s even letting us off early so we can beat the crowds, and it’s really fun if you’ve never been before--I mean it’s still fun even if you _have_ been before which is why we still go--and you’re going to have to rent your own kayak, but it’s something you really should do before you leave and--”

“Lance.”

Lance looked up to meet Keith’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’d love to go,” Keith said. “What time?”

“Oh.” Lance’s foot halted in its frantic rhythm, his shoulders perking up slightly. “Really? Okay cool. Cool cool cool. Um, you can meet us here around two tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, squinting into the glare of Hunk’s headlights as he swung into the parking lot. “Sounds good.”

“Great, um. Yeah, good,” Lance said, rambling once more as he skipped backwards towards the van. “So….see you tomorrow then?”

Keith nodded. “Tomorrow.”

A small smile broke over Lance’s face then, and Keith couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

Lance opened the passenger door, swinging himself up and pulling it shut behind him.

“Goodnight,” Keith breathed, and to anyone else it might have sounded like a sigh.

 

~^~^~^~

 

The next day, Keith found himself waiting in the Altea parking lot, sweat making his sunglasses slide off his nose, but he hardly noticed. Truth be told, he was too excited.

That morning, Pidge had pounded on the villa’s door, demanding to see Keith, and when he had answered the door, she’d started up a constant stream of chatter about kayaks, mangrove tunnels, and how much gatorade she was going to have to pack for their outing.

That chatter continued even now, and Keith had to admit that her excitement was infectious. Currently, she was tapping at her phone, queuing up a playlist, while Lance playfully swatted at her wide-brimmed hat.

Keith smiled, stepping forward as he saw Hunk’s now familiar yellow minivan. Through the back windows, he could see two sets of kayaks and paddles sticking out over where one of the back seats had been folded down.

“Shotgun!” Pidge shouted, grabbing onto her hat as she ran forward, practically launching herself into the passenger seat before Keith could even blink.

“Okay, but I get the AUX,” Lance said, sliding the back door open and shouldering his way inside.

Lance parked himself in the middle seat, the kayaks taking up the entire left side, and Keith was left to squeeze himself into the small space to Lance’s right. He tried to give Lance as much space as he could, but even so, his thigh pressed up against Lance’s, and Keith felt a buzzing in his leg at the point of contact.

“In your dreams,” Pidge said primly, plugging her phone in and pressing play. “I spent too fucking long on this playlist.”

Lance pouted and crossed his arms, sitting back in his seat as deep chanting emanated from the speakers. Hunk pulled out of the lot and onto the main road, belting out a deep baritone in time with the music.

“Pidge?” Keith asked.

“Yeah, Keith?”

“Are you...are you playing sea shanties?”

Keith caught Pidge’s answering grin in the rearview mirror.

The car ride passed quickly as Lance and Pidge bickered loudly over the various shanties, Hunk occasionally chiming in with suggestions and to quell the more boisterous arguments. Keith was content to sit back and watch the trio’s antics unfold, all the while doing his best not to notice every brush of Lance’s warm skin against his own.

He especially tried not to notice how Lance didn’t pull away.

Hunk slowed, turning into a shell lot, and Keith peered out the window at the open area and dense hedge of spindly trees.

The push-off point, it turned out, was a rather unassuming spot, the only marker indicating its location being a weather-worn, wooden sign at the road’s juncture. At least three trailers were parked in the plain gravel lot, a veritable rainbow of kayaks and paddle boards stacked deeply on top of them, each boasting various signs advertising rental rates.

Beyond that, the only other evidence that this area saw any activity was a small concrete building that must have been for bathrooms, and a washing station where a couple of leathery looking men were rinsing off their paddleboards.

Hunk carefully navigated the van up to the simple wooden fence separating the parking lot from the paths down to the water. He threw the car into park and pressed the release for the trunk.

“Lance?” he asked.

“Way ahead of you, bud,” Lance said, haphazardly climbing over Keith to open the door and tumbling out before righting himself. He and Hunk looped around to the back where they started to unload the kayaks.

Pidge hopped out after them, gesturing Keith to follow.

“Alright, newbie, let’s get you geared up.”

Pidge beelined it for one of the trailers full of kayaks, and Keith trailed behind. He would have happily rented the equipment for himself, but Pidge had apparently taken it as a personal challenge to negotiate with the vendor on his behalf. He shrugged, happy to let her haggle, and turned to check on the others.

Hunk was down by the water, strapping a cooler to one of the boats, but Lance was nowhere in sight.

Keith scanned the tree line, the kayak trailers, and the parking lot before finally finding him near the bathrooms, speaking quietly into his phone. Even from this distance, however, Keith could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he clenched his teeth as he spoke, hands rigid at his sides. Worst of all, he could see the openness from the car ride, that easy grin and those languid eyes, closing off once more.

Keith took a step forward, not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to say somethi--

“Keith! Come and get y’all kayak!”

Keith pivoted to see Pidge waving him back over to the trailers, his feet evidently having carried him closer to Lance than he thought. He rejoined Pidge, albeit a bit reluctantly, and paid for his kayak before carrying it down to the water.

By the time he looked up again, Lance had also made his way down to the water, but he didn’t wait for the others before he climbed into his boat and pushed off, gliding through the shaded mangrove tunnel and disappearing from view.

“Is he okay?” Keith asked as he sloshed through ankle deep water to where Hunk was staring after Lance.

Hunk pressed his lips together, brow furrowed slightly. “I think so? Something tells me he just needs some space to cool down right now. Give him a few.”

Keith frowned, but couldn’t find reasoning enough to argue with someone who had thirteen years of Lance-experience over his three weeks. Instead, he focused on pulling his kayak into deeper water and trying not to tip over as he climbed in. Hunk gave him a slight push out into the main waterway, and Keith ducked as he passed under a low-hanging cluster of branches.

He blinked against the bright light reflecting off the water’s surface as the bay opened up before him. In the distance, he could see the bridge onto the main island, the buildings of downtown Arus sparkling in the bright afternoon sun. A series of canals cutting through some of the larger waterfront properties spread out to his left, and to his right, calm waters hedged in by mangroves created the natural, winding tunnels with their walls of twisting roots and wide canopies.

Keith twisted in his seat to see Hunk and Pidge climbing into their double kayak and pushing off. He held back a laugh as he heard the telltale sounds of sea shanties coming from a speaker perched at the bow.

Refocusing on the waterways before, Keith began paddling forward, spotting Lance’s electric blue kayak gliding through the water towards where small signs pointed out the entrances to the tunnels.

Though it had been a while, the motion of paddling pulled at familiar muscles in Keith’s arms and abdomen. Summers at lake houses and one the New England coast had made him no stranger to kayaking, and Keith sliced easily through the water, as he chased after Lance.

Behind him, he could hear Hunk and Pidge going at it--something about proper paddling technique?--but Keith decided to keep moving forward, figuring they’d catch up eventually.

“Hey,” Keith said as he pulled his kayak up next to Lance’s.

Lance did a double take, eyeing Keith’s form as he matched Lance’s pace stroke for stroke.

Keith cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say, Sanchez?”

Lance looked away quickly at that, and Keith’s playful smile fell from his face, confusion and frustration crowding in instead. Monday at the aquarium had been weird, sure, but after a few days Lance had seemed to get over whatever it was that had been bothering him. Yet, here they were once again, Lance’s entire demeanor flipping a one-eighty, and Keith being left behind, trying to figure it out.

Silence fell over the two as they paddled, and Keith was struck by the stillness of the scene around them, the sheer quiet now that they were far from the constant hum of air conditioners or the rolling of waves. The water here was calm, surrounded as it was by the thick patches of mangroves, which shot straight out of the water like strange, lanky islands. Yet, in the shallower areas, Keith could make out the beds of seagrass waving gently beneath him, the sight obscured every few moments by the swirls of glittering sand that was kicked up by their paddles.

The only sounds were the buzzing of the cicadas, the occasional bird call, and the quiet, rhythmic splash of their movements. Distantly, Keith could discern the chatter of some paddle boarders and what might have been Pidge’s sea shanties.

A solitary splash sounded from out on Keith’s left and he glanced over to see ripples dancing over the water.

“What was that?” Keith asked, curious.

After the quiet, Lance’s voice seemed startling. “Probably a mullet.”

“A what?”

Keith tried not to feel buoyed by Lance’s response. If he was feeling better enough to tease him, then maybe--

“It’s a kind of fish,” Lance said dully, and Keith’s stomach sank once more as he pulled ahead, aiming his kayak at one of the mangrove tunnels marked by a sign with a faded blue “1” painted on it.

That gave Keith pause. There was no way Lance would pass up the opportunity to make fun of his hairstyle _and_ call him a fish at the same time. Something was wrong.

He trailed after Lance, falling in behind him as he entered the tunnel.

As he glided smoothly into the mangroves, Keith’s breath caught at the sudden change. The temperature dropped, the humidity and sun leached away by the shade of the trees, and what few sounds he could hear outside became muted almost completely. Tangled roots reaching down into the water lined the sides of the grove, and branches with thick oval leaves stretched overhead, the sunlight filtering between them in a pale green blanket.

It wasn’t as still as he had initially thought either. Not really. The more Keith looked, the more he saw. Little crabs scuttling across spindly roots, a heron ruffling its feathers as it perched on a nearby branch, the quiet current guiding his boat through where the trees narrowed too much to allow him to paddle.

And, of course, Lance.

Lance, whose movements were subdued and quiet but thrummed with an underlying tension. Lance, who pulled ahead through the tunnel without allowing himself a moment to pause and take any of it in. Lance, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Then, Keith was blinking in the bright sun, sneezing as the light and heat hit him once more. He heard Pidge and Hunk behind him, probably just entering the tunnel, but he had his eyes trained on Lance, who was halfway to the next tunnel already.

Keith looked on in confusion, but still he followed.

The second tunnel was longer than the first, and Keith nearly lost Lance where it forked, but he caught a flash of electric blue, turned his kayak and pushed through, ducking around a spiderweb stretched between two branches.

Keith rounded a corner and back-paddled immediately, knocking into a branch and sending a cluster of tiny crabs scattering.

Lance had stopped directly in front of him, kayak facing a wall of tangled roots. He was just sitting there, still as the air around them.

“Lance?” Keith asked tentatively.

Suddenly, Lance let out a noise of frustration and threw his paddle down onto the boat, the clatter jarring against the relative silence of the tunnel. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders sagging.

“Lance...are you okay?”

“No!” he shouted. “I went the wrong _fucking_ way. _¡Coño!_ ”

Keith stretched a hand out but then thought better of it, snatching it back. “It’s not that big of a deal we’ll just--”

“What?” Lance said, head shooting up and meeting Keith’s wide-eyed gaze. “Turn around? Go back the other way? To the way things were?”

“This isn’t...you’re not talking about the tunnels, are you?”

Lance gave a bitter laugh. “Congratulations, Sherlock. You should get a medal for figuring that one out.”

Keith splashed water in Lance’s direction, feeling only a little satisfied when a patch of dark spots soaked into his shirt. “Don’t be an asshole, I’m only asking if you want to talk about it.”

“What’s the point?” Lance said, bitterness seeping into every word now. “Just go back to the others.”

Keith’s jaw clenched. Lance had been acting weird for nearly a week straight, and no one in that time had been able to give him a satisfying answer as to why, or what to do about it. And now, surrounded by a dense copse of trees and an audience of strange grey crabs, Keith was as close to answer as he might ever get. He was not letting this chance slip away.  

Keith further entrenched his kayak across the tunnel entrance, effectively blocking off the exit. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Anger flashed behind Lance’s eyes. “It’s none of your business, now let me out.”

“You made it my business when you told me you wanted to be friends and then started acting like a jerk,” Keith said, words he’d been keeping at bay spilling out like water from a broken dam. “And okay, fine, I won’t make you tell me what’s wrong, but seriously, do you want me here or not? Because lately, it doesn’t seem like it.”

Lance recoiled slightly, confusion seeping through his anger. “Of course I want you here.”

“Then start acting like it,” Keith almost shouted. He took a breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m happy being just your friend, but I’m trying to follow your lead, and so far,” Keith gestured around them, “you’ve led us to a dead end.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance deflated a bit, eyes shifting to the water’s surface, “that seems to be a pattern in my life, so don’t feel too special.”

Keith merely stared at him, waiting for the continuation he heard forming at the end of Lance’s words.

Finally, Lance released a tight sigh, drawing his knees up and resting his arms atop them. “Look, I’m--I’m sorry, okay? It’s just that--well, my dad’s been calling me, and it’s really been fucking with my head, and I don’t--I don’t know what to think about it all, or how to process it and...sorry.” His head drooped slightly, but Keith could still see the fierce scrunch to his brows under his hair. “I’ve been taking this out on the wrong people, I know that, but I just haven’t really known what to do…”

“Lance…”

“I _hate_ this,” Lance continued, curling himself up into an even tighter ball. “I hate that I feel like this whenever he comes up, but….well, he’s my dad, you know? I wish things were different. I wish _he_ was different, but I don’t see a way back for us.”

Keith sighed, fidgeting with the paddle in his hands. “I take it there’s more to the story than him being a huge homophobe?”

Lance chuckled bitterly. “You could say that.”

Keith had glimpsed that underlying weariness before, a week ago at the bonfire when Lance had started to open up, and even then he had known that it was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Level fifteen backstory?” Keith offered.

Lance smiled just a little at the callback, and while it wasn’t a happy smile, it at least seemed real. “More like level twenty.”

Keith couldn’t help but wonder what level he was currently at. Admittedly, there had been a large part of him that had been hoping Lance would tell him the whole story, and he couldn’t quite hold back the sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized he wasn’t going to get any more of a satisfying answer.

But Shiro’s words from earlier that week echoed in his mind. He couldn’t push Lance to open up if he didn’t want to, and he had no right to demand anything more than what Lance was willing to give.

The problem was, however, that just wasn’t enough for him anymore.

Keith pulled his kayak away from where it was blocking Lance in, and he slowly started backing out, mindful of the tricky mangrove roots.

Lance’s head shot up, and he gave Keith a curious look, but Keith glanced away, concentrating on escaping the narrow space. He managed to get his kayak turned around, and began backtracking through the tunnel, feeling slightly relieved that he was away from Lance’s sad eyes, his hurt face. Keith had enough mixed emotions swirling in his chest at that moment, he didn’t feel capable just then of taking in Lance’s too.

They paddled in silence back to the main canals, and Keith tried to take stock as much as he could of what was going through his head. On some level, he was glad to finally know what was going on with Lance. At least, in part. He could understand how hearing from his dad might be so jarring, especially considering how the man practically excommunicated his own son just for being who he was. But then again, there was another part of Keith, a small but increasingly loud part, that couldn’t let go of the need to know more. There was something else to this story, something Lance wasn’t saying. Keith couldn’t exactly say why it was bothering him so much--the not knowing--but the more he learned about Lance, the longer he stayed around him, the harder it was for Keith to find reasons not to ask. Reasons not to care.

It took a few more minutes of exploring, but Keith and Lance finally found Hunk and Pidge again, the playlist of sea shanties still going strong off the bow of their kayak.

Pidge had an especially mischievous grin stretched across her face, as she shook a red bottle back and forth.

“Hey, Keith, you thirsty?”

Keith merely shook his head, however, for once not in the mood to humor her.

Pidge’s expression fell as she looked between the two of them, concern etched in lines across her face. She quietly put the gatorade back into the cooler at her feet, not saying another word.

Hunk, too, gave a concerned glance, but then Lance pulled ahead of Keith, a hastily constructed smile on his lips.

“Hey, guys!” he called. “Where have you been?”

Pidge recovered quickly, scoffing at Lance’s question. “Looking for you two dumbasses. How can you expect Hunk and I to keep up when you race off like a bat outta hell?”

“Well excuse me for being excited,” Lance said a little too loudly to be genuine. “You know how I feel about estuaries.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re horny about the environment,” Pidge said. “Now let’s get back before you try to get me to lick a leaf again.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I told you, black mangroves have salty leaves, literally all I’m asking you to do is lick salt.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“It really is just salt, Pidge,” Hunk offered, turning their double kayak back the way they had come.

Pidge slumped in her seat. “Ugh, not you too. Keith, let me on your kayak, these two are trying to kill me.”

“Sorry, only room for one,” he said, taking the opportunity to pull ahead of the others.

It took a bit longer to get back to the push-off point than it had to get out, but that was to be expected when Keith wasn’t racing to keep up with Lance’s runaway-train-pace. Keith should have been happy to have a more leisurely ride through the tunnels--it was easier to take photos when you weren’t paddling at breakneck speeds--but he couldn’t bring himself to get his camera out of its bag.

Lance seemed closer to his kind of normal as they worked their way to shore, continuing to joke with Hunk and tease Pidge, but Keith had seen the other side of this behavior, had seen him before the masks were set back in place. Everything he did now seemed a pale comparison to what Keith knew he could be, knew he was, and it set Keith’s teeth on edge to see it.

Eventually, they made it to the push-off point, and began the process of dragging their kayaks back in to shore, hosing them down, and shoving them back into the back of Hunk’s van. By the time Keith had returned his kayak, the others were ready to go, and he climbed in the backseat.

This time, Pidge was next to him, and he didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. As he watched Lance gesticulate wildly, telling some story about one of his siblings and the spider crabs, he was struck by how weary he had gotten. Now that he knew Lance was hiding, he couldn’t bring himself to play into the farce anymore.

And clearly, he was the only one. Keith caught Hunk and Pidge’s concerned glances, but they didn’t push like Keith had, were instead content to let Lance come to them or not. It had apparently worked for them over the years, but Keith knew now that he didn’t have the same kind of patience, the kind Lance needed.

God, he had literally trapped the guy in a dead-end to make him say what was wrong. Keith knew more of the story, but at what cost to Lance? They had agreed to be friends, had given it a shot, but maybe, in the end, Keith was causing more harm than good. Perhaps, he had finally overstayed his welcome.

It was that thought that followed him most closely on the car ride back to Altea. So, when he had climbed out of the van in the resort parking lot, he said his goodbyes, feeling a sense of finality ring through the words as the back door slammed shut.

Keith made the short walk back to the villa, his mind made up.

When he opened the door, Shiro was standing at the stove stirring something in a large pot. Keith dropped his keys on the entryway table, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

“Hey, how was it?” Shiro asked, looking over at Keith.

“I’m leaving.”

The wooden spoon clattered into the pot, but Keith didn’t look back as he marched into his room, snagging his laptop from its bag and pulling up his email. He scrolled through the various commission requests he had gotten over the weekend until he spotted one in Michigan.

He could do Michigan.

He typed out a quick reply message and slammed his laptop closed, hopping up to begin packing. He flitted about the room, gathering stray t-shirts from the dresser drawers, a pair of shorts from the wicker chair, a solitary sock that had made its way under his bed.

A strange mixture of relief and fear churned in his stomach as Keith realized that this was the first time in a long while that he’d actually needed to repack. After three whole weeks, he had stopped living out of his bag, stopped living like he was already moving on.

He forcefully stuffed his laundry in his duffel, shoving the clothes down without a care as he prioritized speed over order. In spite of his best efforts, this place had gotten under his skin, made him think about what it would actually mean to stay. For once in his life, he hadn’t been thinking about the next assignment, the next set of roads, the next town. Just warm sun and sparkling blue.

“Keith?”

Keith looked up to see that Shiro had abandoned the stove in favor of standing just outside his door.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Keith said, zipping his bag closed. “I just...I can’t stay.”

“What happened?” Shiro’s voice was laced with concern, and a pang of guilt hit Keith’s gut. Shiro was the one constant in Keith’s life, the one who would be there without fail. Keith knew leaving would hurt his brother, but staying would probably hurt Keith more.

“Just...nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his fingers snagging on the salt- and sweat-tangled locks. “No, Shiro, _nothing_ happened. Nothing ever happens, and clearly nothing ever will, so I’m going.”

He could see the moment when Shiro pieced everything together. Keith had never said anything outright, but then again, he hadn’t _really_ been trying to hide anything either. Not during the sleepover, not during Mote...not once since he had come to Arus.

“Is this...about Lance?”

Keith turned away, focusing on packing up his camera equipment instead.

“So it is about Lance.”

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” Keith threw his hands up. “All I know is that he won’t talk to me and it’s killing me and I just...I can’t keep doing that.”

Shiro moved fully into the room, coming up beside Keith and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Keith…”

Keith slid his gaze to Shiro, his brother’s expression soft and sympathetic.

“Keith, do you care about him?”

“I think I could,” he said, breath shaky as the confession left his lips. “And it terrifies me.”

Shiro’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “So, you’re running then?”

“I’ve been here too long, anyway,” Keith mumbled, shaking Shiro off. “It’s time.”

Keith could feel Shiro considering him out of the corner of his eye, could feel the weight of his gaze as Keith continued to gently put away lenses.

“At least stay and have something to eat,” Shiro offered, “maybe sleep on it? It’s almost six so you wouldn’t be able to get very far today anyways. And…” Keith could practically hear Shiro repress a sigh. “If you still want to leave in the morning, I won’t stop you.”

That gave Keith pause. He owed it to his brother to at least say a proper goodbye, and though he knew he wouldn’t change his mind in the morning, he wouldn’t say no to a good night’s sleep.

Keith nodded, putting his camera bag down.

“Thank you, Keith.” Shiro pulled him in for a brief but tight hug. “Dinner in ten, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Shiro squeezed his shoulder once more, giving him a tentative smile before leaving Keith to his packing.

Keith looked around the room, noting the last few items scattered across the various surfaces. While it may have been the most unpacked he had ever been, Keith still couldn’t ignore the pang in his chest at how little time it had taken to shove his life into the space of two bags.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Keith could tell Shiro was disappointed when the morning didn’t bring any changes of heart, but Keith’s mind was made up. There was no way he’d be able to stay here, not when he was clearly causing all kinds of misery, most of all for himself.

Yet, he kept finding himself lingering, allowing Shiro to take him out to breakfast and to pull him into some last-minute chores. In a way, Keith wasn’t quite sure _how_ to leave. He’d always just cut and run, not once looking back, only forwards. But this time was different. _Felt_ different. Maybe it was because he was leaving his brother. Maybe because he was yanking out the first roots he had grown in years. Maybe because, for the first time, he felt like he was leaving something unfinished behind.

Or maybe he was psyching himself up and just needed to rip the band-aid off.

It was two in the afternoon by the time Keith had finally extricated himself from Shiro’s poorly disguised attempts at stalling him. He tried to say his goodbyes in the villa, but Shiro simply scooped up Keith’s duffle with a smile, and followed him out to the parking lot.

Keith could feel Shiro watching him closely as he finished checking over his bike, making sure his bags were secured tightly to the back. He hadn’t ridden Red in nearly two weeks, but everything seemed to check out, not a screw out of place.

“So,” Shiro said, shading his eyes with one hand, the other planted on his hip. “You’re really leaving then.”

Keith stood up straight, brushing his hands off and adjusting his fingerless riding gloves. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, he was pulled into a hug, Shiro’s prosthetic digging into his back, but Keith didn’t mind. He just squeezed back, ignoring the sting in his eyes.

“Bye, Keith,” Shiro said quietly, stepping back. “For what it’s worth, I really enjoyed having you here.”

“Thanks, Shiro.” Keith climbed onto his bike, pulling his helmet over his head and securing the chin strap. “I’ll see you around yeah?”

Shiro smiled warmly. “You know where to find me.”

Keith nodded and kicked the bike to life, letting himself revel for a moment in the familiar rumble of the engine beneath him before heading down the resort’s long drive.

 

~^~^~^~

 

At first, the ride out of Arus felt like any other time Keith had left somewhere. The simplicity of just him, his bike, and the long stretches of road consuming his mind, drowning everything else out. And for a little bit, Keith could buy into the illusion of his past habits. The purr of his bike blocking out all thought, the ridiculous Floridian drivers securing his full attention as he wove his way through traffic.

But then he passed the Publix Shiro had dragged him to, the deli that Hunk swore by, and the turn-off to get to the mangroves. By the time he passed the last street that led downtown, his knuckles were tight on the handle bars, his breath short inside his helmet.

The streets were no longer strangers, anonymous thoroughfares simply leading from one inconsequential place to the next, but ways to get from memory to memory. This place, this town, Keith realized belatedly, had become real to him. He had come to know it bit by bit, and without noticing, he had started to love it too.

He rolled to a stop at a red light, his eye catching on a sign he would have ignored any other time. It was small and green, an official county post, with the word MOTE printed in white letters, an arrow pointing left.  

Keith could only be grateful no cops were around when he gunned it as the light turned.

It wasn’t until he crossed the town lines, back out into unfamiliar territory, that Keith released the breath he didn’t realize he had been keeping under tight control. As the highway opened up before him, he revved the engine and let himself focus on the balance of the bike, the adrenaline in his veins at driving so fast for the first time in weeks.

For a little while, Keith could let himself think that this was the same as leaving Boulder, the same as leaving Sacramento, Salt Lake City, Chicago. Except that none of those places had tall swaths of sea oats that he now knew were protected by law. None of those places had beaches pockmarked by wooden spikes and electric orange tape, indicating where turtle eggs rested just beneath the sand. And none of those places had a tall, infuriating boy with sharp blue eyes, a love for sharks, and a hatred for pickles.

Keith increased his speed, hoping that maybe if he moved fast enough, he could escape the ever expanding shadow Arus was casting around him. Forget about the sting of rejection each time he thought about that moment down by the water, and forget about why it all seemed to bother him so much. But every beach, every resort he passed he couldn’t help but to compare them to Arus, to Altea.

Beneath his bike, something rattled on the road as his tires flew across the pavement. Keith kept his grip firm on the handlebars, scanning his mirrors for whatever it was that he had driven over. There was nothing behind him save for the ever present palm detritus. A moment later, however, and his check tire light flashed urgently on the bike’s console.

Keith felt the beginnings of the _thudthudthudthud_ in his deflating tire, cursing vehemently as he motioned to the surrounding drivers that he was pulling off to the side.

Safely on the shoulder of the road, Keith dismounted and rounded to the front of the bike where, sure enough, the bottom of the tire was flat against the ground.

“Fucking hell,” Keith gritted out.

He didn’t waste one second pulling out his phone and calling his insurance company, punching in an inordinate amount of numbers for the automated system until he finally reached a living human.

“Thank you for calling Garrison Insurance, my name is Emily, how can I be of assistance today?”

“Hi, I’m on I-75 with a flat tire and I need a tow.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, if you give us the make and model of your vehicle, and the nearest mile marker, we can get you to the nearest service center.”

Keith sighed and squinted up at the sign, reporting his location and bike specifications.

The sound of typing accompanied the zooming of cars, and Keith tried not to pace in frustration. “It looks like the nearest shop that services Ducati parts and also has availability is Elena’s Garage in Arus. We can also take you to a center in Tampa, but it looks like there are no mechanics available for walk-ins right now.”

Keith closed his eyes, dropping his head back. _Of fucking course_.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, um,” Keith said, leaning back against his bike. “Arus is fine.”

“Wonderful. We’ll dispatch the tow momentarily. Our driver should be there in thirty minutes.”

“Great, thanks,” Keith said, and he hung up the phone.

Fantastic. This was just...fantastic.

He pulled up his messages and typed out a quick text to Shiro.

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[3:34pm]**

_So please don’t freak out, but I’m heading back your way_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:35pm]**

_Is everything alright?_

_Where are you?_

_You’re not moving on 75._

_What happened?_

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[3:35pm]**

... _I said don’t freak out_

_Okay, in order:_

_I’m fine._

_I’m clearly on I-75._

_Correct, I’m not moving._

_I have a flat tire._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:36pm]**

_Did you call the insurance company yet?_

_Do you need a ride?_

_I can come get you if you need_

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[3:36pm]**

_I’ve got a tow coming, don’t worry about it. I’ll hitch a ride with them._

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:36pm]**

_Okay, if you’re sure. Keep me posted please!_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:39pm]**

_……._

_Just out of curiosity, they’re sending you to Elena’s aren’t they?_

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[3:40pm]**

_Yeah, why? Is there something I should know?_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:42pm]**

_Oh, no reason_

_Just, you’re in good hands ;)_

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[3:42pm]**

_Wtf does that mean_

 

 **Keith Kogayne** **[3:45pm]**

_Shiro_

_Shiro answer me_

_What does that mean???_

 

 **Kashi Go Lean Crunch** **[3:46pm]**

_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

 

As Keith had expected, the tow truck was a bit late, not getting to him until almost four thirty, and by then he was practically baking in the sun. Figures he’d breakdown nowhere near an overpass. A few cars had slowed down to see if he needed any help, but he waved them on wearily, not wanting to deal with explaining the situation five times over.

When the woman showed up with the truck, Keith practically sighed with relief, signing the paperwork and hopping in the cab while his bike was secured down. The ride back was uneventful, and Keith was content to let the woman chatter along about her young daughter while he stared out the window, watching as the familiar Arus landscape expanded around him once again.

He couldn’t quite explain it, but in a way, Keith was almost...relieved when he began to recognize things again. With every road sign he was able to identify, that restless buzzing just beneath his skin began to abate.

By the time the tow truck finally pulled up to a low, one-story building with _Elena’s_ in neon purple across the front, Keith knew more about a little girl named Stella than he would like to admit. He hopped out of the cab at the first opportunity, needing a moment alone with his own, Stella-free thoughts before heading into the garage.

The building was surprisingly large, several of the bays occupied by cars, the sound of machine’s whirring and a Top 40 radio filling the space, but it didn’t give the impression of chaos that usually accompanied a repair garage. This one was obviously run like a well-oiled machine, everything clearly labelled, in its proper place, the floor cleaner than some grocery stores Keith had been in.  

Keith let out a breath, feeling at least a bit consoled at the thought of Red being in good hands. He headed off towards the right where a small front counter area was filled with a collection of waiting chairs and a tiny coffee table, the loud drone of shop machines dulled by the glass door separating the two spaces. A doorway leading into a private office stood open behind the desk, and through it, Keith could see a short woman, her brown hair swept up into a messy ponytail, tapping away furiously at a computer.

He leaned up against the empty counter, happy to wait for someone to notice him. Thoughts of his short-lived departure buzzed around in his head, and Keith was still trying to sort out why exactly he felt a sense of profound relief that he was back already. What exactly was it about this place that made it so hard to lea--

“Mullet?”

Keith whipped his head around to see Lance standing behind him, his hands gripping a manila envelope, eyes wide.

“Why.”

Lance seemed to unfreeze, barking out a laugh and walking around to place the envelope on the front desk. “I could ask you the same thing. Figures you’d come in one of the few times I’m working.”

Keith looked down to see that, indeed, Lance did seem to be working, clad as he was in standard blue coveralls that were halfway pushed down, sleeves tied around his waist to reveal a stained, white t-shirt. His hair was a mess, ends curling up in haphazard directions, and a stray bit of grease was streaked high across one cheekbone. He really tried hard not to think the grease monkey look was a good one for Lance.

“How many jobs do you even have?” Keith said in lieu of any sort of polite conversation. To say that he hadn’t expected to see Lance again so soon, or even at all, was a bit of an understatement, and he was much too tired at this point to try for pleasantries.

Lance gave a wry smile. “This is actually my mom’s garage. I just help out every once in a while.” He busied himself at the desk, shuffling random stacks of papers around. “So, car trouble?”

Keith raised a brow but didn’t question the abrupt subject change. “Bike trouble, actually.”

“Ah, so you’re the fancy Ducati,” came a new voice, and Keith looked up to see that the woman had left the office and was now standing behind Lance, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Looking between them, Keith could see the resemblance, a familiar soft smile on her face and the same chestnut-brown hair. Her eyes, however, were a deep brown, but they held the same kind of gleam that Keith had glimpsed in Lance’s.

Keith coughed, shaking himself. “Um, yeah. The insurance company should have called ahead? Keith Kogane?”

At once, her smile broadened and she looked between him and Lance. “Oh, so _this_ is Keith.”

“Mamí!” Lance ducked his head, but not soon enough for Keith to miss the flush that was creeping up his neck.

Keith was sure his face was at least as red, Lance’s mom imbuing her voice with enough meaning to make Keith at least a little worried.

“What? I’m just excited to meet Shiro’s mysterious brother.”

“You know my brother?”

Elena looked almost shocked. “Of course. You think anyone else in this town would know what to do with that Tesla?”

Keith mentally connected the dots and made a mental note to throw Shiro’s arm in the ocean later.

Lance rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes, Mamí, you’re the best in the state.”

“Oh, hush _chiquito_ ,” she said, gently patting Lance’s cheek, “you know I’m right.” She turned to Keith, a warm smile on her face. “I’m Elena, Keith, it’s very nice to finally meet you.”

She held out a hand which Keith took, noting the firmness of her grip as he did his best not to think too hard on the word ‘finally’.

“Likewise,” Keith said, and he tried to not let himself be cowed by the sheer presence of this woman. “You know, for all the times Lance and Shiro have mentioned this place, I never actually knew what it was called. I guess I should have just asked Lance what your name is.”

“Well, I’m glad you found us anyway. Lance here will take good care of you.”

“Mom…” Lance trailed off uncomfortably, his eyes shifting away. “I don’t think that Keith would wan--”

Lance started suddenly, jolting to attention as his hand flew to his pocket. He pulled out his phone, expression darkening as it buzzed an SOS pattern. Elena’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing, narrowing with a fiery intensity that made Keith very glad he was not Lance’s phone.

“Leandro,” Elena said quietly. “Give me the phone.”

“Mamí, you really don’t have to--”

“Phone.”

Wordlessly, Lance handed it over. Elena slid the icon over and held the phone to her ear.

“ _Comó te atreves a seguir llamando. No lo puedo creer, Hijo de Puta. Después de todo lo que le has hech_ _o--_ ” she spat out loudly into the phone.

Keith watched as she moved back to the relative privacy of her office, shutting the door behind her. Even through the solid wood, however, he could hear rapidfire Spanish, venom clearly laced through every word.

“Um,” Lance said, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he looked away from where his mom‘s voice was still leaking beneath the doorframe. “So, your bike?”

Keith gave Lance a careful look. He had a pretty good idea of what had just gone down, and while he couldn’t help that insatiable curiosity, he also recognized a subject change when he saw one.

“It’s got a flat.”

Lance nodded, moving out from behind the desk and gesturing for Keith to follow as he made his way into the garage and over to one of the empty bays. “Let’s get it in here, and I can check it out for you.” He gestured to the truck outside. “That your tow?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, let me go grab the driver. Be right back.”

He all but jogged out into the humid evening, too many thoughts to track swirling madly around his head. Of course he broke down. Of course Lance’s mom’s shop was the only one with Ducati parts. Of course Shiro had known.

And that phone call…

Keith could feel the tension building around his mouth as he watched the tow woman unload his bike and help him wheel it into the empty bay where Lance was waiting. He followed the woman back out to the truck as Lance began looking things over, signed another few forms, thanking her for her help before heading back in.

Lance, however, had paused in his inspection, an odd look on his face, eyes intent on the back rack of Keith’s bike where all of his bags were securely— _oh_.

“Were you, uh,” Lance cleared his throat, “were you leaving then?”

Keith couldn’t find an excuse to hide behind, no way to play it off coming to mind, the evidence of his aborted departure in plain view. Yet, in a way, he found that it didn’t matter. He saw no point in lying. Lance deserved the truth.

“Yeah, I was.”

Lance pursed his lips. “I see.” He rounded back to the front of the bike, hand trailing along the bright red paint. “Are you still leaving?”

Keith watched Lance as he selected tools from a rolling chest with intense care. “I guess that depends.”

Lance simply nodded as he took a seat on a low, rolling stool, methodically beginning to unbolt the flat tire from Red. To put it plainly, Keith was floored as he observed Lance working. He worked quickly and confidently, getting the tire off in no time at all. When he stood up to get the new tire, Keith had to stop himself from looking after him as he walked away.

He returned in a moment, and set back to working on Red, brow screwed up in concentration. Keith shifted his weight, feeling a little awkward, but he spotted a workbench a few feet away.

Keith gestured to the bench. “Mind if I sit?”

“Hmm?” Lance looked up, eyes cloudy in thought before they cleared with understanding. “Oh. Oh, yeah of course. Sorry I didn’t offer sooner.”

“Thanks,” Keith said, hopping up onto the bench, legs swinging underneath him.

“You know,” Lance scratched at his face a little, leaving another small smear of oil. “We’ve got comfier chairs in the office?”

“This is fine. Besides,” Keith offered a small smile, “I’d like the company.”

“Oh,” Lance said quietly, his now-familiar blush creeping up his face. “Well, by all means…”

Lance turned back to the bike, renewed focus on his face, but Keith couldn’t help thinking that something had softened a bit in his eyes. The rest of the repair went quickly, and Keith added ‘good with his hands’ to his mental filing cabinet of Lance-related things. With the last bolt in place, Lance stood wiping his hands off on his coveralls.

“Okay, that should do it,” he said.

Keith shook his head in no small amount of wonder. “Marine biology, volleyball, advanced mechanical repairs? Is there anything you don’t know how to do?”

Lance jutted out a hip slightly, a sliver of his normal self peeking through. “This is hardly advanced. Although,” he shifted his gaze back to Red, “I could do a full once-over while you’re here… On the house, of course.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take up more of your time.”

Lance waved off his concerns. “It’s no problem really. Also, I’ll admit, it’s not an entirely selfless offer. I’ve always wanted to get my hands on one of these babies. They’re so damn sexy.”

Keith chuckled, shifting to get more comfortable on his workbench perch. “Have at it then.”

Lance spent the next twenty minutes ooh-ing and aah-ing over Red, and Keith was content to let him have his fun, enjoying way too much the smiles it was brining to his face, the clouds it was driving away from his eyes. There was also the fact that Keith was admittedly glad for the distraction. The longer he spent with Lance, the more the Lance he had come to know shone through the cracks, the less Keith found himself wanting to leave again.

By the time he finished, Lance had an almost dreamy look on his face, hands seemingly glued to Red’s glossy paint.

“Man, I gotta get one of these someday,” he practically groaned.

“You could try mine out if you want. I could take you for a ride sometime.”

Lance slid a cautious gaze Keith’s way, but Keith could have sworn there was something like hope in it. “So...you planning on sticking around?”

Keith smiled, soft and small. “It’s a high possibility.”

Lance returned the expression, setting Keith’s heart fluttering.

A whistle sounded, low and clear, to the right, causing both boys to turn their heads.

“Well isn’t she a beauty?” Elena said, an appreciative grin on her face.

“Thank you,” Keith said, letting a bit of pride color his tone.

Elena crossed the length of the bay, stopping next to Lance, a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Good work, _mijo_. It looks great. Also,” she dug into a pocket, pulling out Lance’s phone, “here’s this back before I forget.”

To say the change in Lance’s demeanor was quick was an understatement. The drop in his features was almost immediate, and he pocketed the phone with a barely concealed grimace. Keith could visibly see the tension return to his body, his movements stiff and expression inscrutable, where not two minutes ago they had been open, relaxed. At first, Keith was inclined to think of it as having been more Lance-like, but in a way, he was starting to learn that these moments were also Lance-like, just a version of Lance that Keith had yet to know fully.

Elena squeezed his shoulder gently, speaking quickly to her son in a low tone. “ _Podemos hablar sobre estó mas rato...sí quieres._ ”

Lance nodded, the movement a bit jerky. “ _Gracias, Mam í_.”

Keith watched the exchange curiously, not wanting to intrude but pulled in again by that damn desire to know what exactly could make Lance, bright and bold Lance, get so quiet.

“Well then,” Elena said, turning to Keith with a bright smile on her face. “I’m sure this boy wants to get home--he’s probably had a long day. Lance, why don’t you help check him out?”

Lance took a sharp breath, seemingly trying to shake off his thoughts. “Alright. Come on, Keith.”

Keith hopped off the table and followed Lance back towards the front office.

“ _No te olvides de llevarlo a la puerta_ ,” came Elena’s voice from behind.

Lance whipped around towards his mother. “ _¿Qué paso con lo del corazón de cristal?_ ”

“ _Él es envoltorio,_ ” she called back.

Lance turned back, spots of color peppering his cheeks. Keith merely raised an eyebrow at him, suddenly contemplating buying a Spanish dictionary.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance muttered, rounding the corner of the front counter.

“Wasn’t gonna ask,” Keith lied as he filled out what he hoped was the last bit of paperwork Lance had pushed in front of him.

He looked down at the total and frowned. “Hey, are you sure this is the right amount? These were specialty parts, and I know they’re more expensive than that.”

Lance picked at his nails, avoiding eye contact. “Nope. That’s standard cost.”

“Lance, I’ve paid for these myself before.”

Lance waved flippantly. “Tax is different here. Now give me your card before I have to comp it all.”

Keith narrowed his eyes but ultimately decided not to fight Lance on this, handing over his card.

“Thanks,” Keith said after a moment.

Lance looked up and gave him a soft smile. “You’re welcome. Perks of being friends with the owner’s son.”

_Friends._

Five days ago Keith had thought it would have been possible to live with that word, but now it felt far too insufficient to explain all that he wanted it to mean. To explain all that he wanted from Lance.

When they rounded back to Lance’s work bay, Elena was nowhere in sight, Red standing alone, bright and shiny under the garage’s lights. Keith took a moment to appreciate the work, a weight lifting from his shoulders at having two working wheels once again. Lance approached the bike, flipping the kickstand up and nodding towards the bay doors.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”

Keith could only follow, Lance barely waiting before turning the bike around and striding out into the muggy Floridian night.  

The sky had grown dark during the time Keith had been in the garage, stars blinking into existence against the inky blue backdrop. The heat of the day remained, however, rising up from the pavement, the humidity heavy in the air.

Lance stopped a few yards from the garage, letting the kickstand back down and gently tilting the bike against it. He kept his hands firm on the handlebars, though, knuckles tight, the bones beneath ghosting through the skin. Keith wanted to ask, wanted to know so badly, but Hunk and Pidge’s advice echoed through his head. So he waited. This time willing to give Lance the chance he needed, the chance he seemed to want.

Then, finally and so softly, “I feel like I owe you an explanation,” Lance said, and Keith’s head shot up in surprise.

“What?”

“You were right,” Lance said, face cast half in shadow from the leftover light spilling out from the garage. “I was acting like a dick, and I’m sorry.”

Keith shook his head. “Lance, you already told me about your dad. You don’t need to--”

“I want you to know.”

Keith’s jaw clicked shut and he waited.

“So, my dad keeps calling, you know this already. He wants to reconnect or whatever bullshit he’s spewing this time.”

“And you don’t want that?” Keith asked tentatively.

Lance huffed out a breath, gripping the handlebars even harder. “The problem is that I do. I really do. But after what he did to me...there’s no way I’m going to forgive him. I can’t. Not any time soon at least.”

Keith was shocked that Lance was offering this, but more than that, he was actually...happy. Because Keith wanted to be a level twenty friend. Hell, he wanted to be a level fifty friend--someone Lance could talk to, could confide in and tell all his secrets, his fears, his hopes, his dreams. Lance, he realized, was worth the wait.

“He outed me to my abuela,” Lance said, his voice quiet but strong. “Didn’t even give me a chance to do it myself, to explain it to her, he just fucking told her one weekend. He told her I was gay, too, which--” Lance chuckled bitterly, “yeah, I know that’s not the thing I should be hung up on, but it clearly wasn’t enough for him to ruin my relationship with one of the most important people in my life. No, of course not. He didn’t even have the decency to get my sexuality right.”

“Lance…” Keith wanted to reach out, to give him some level of comfort, but Lance scrunched his shoulders up, not looking at Keith.

“And because the universe hadn’t fucked with me enough, that was the weekend my first boyfriend decided to break up with me. So, you know, that was fun. At least I got to find out who my real family was.”

“I...I don’t know what to say…”

Lance waved a hand. “I’m...I’m alright. It’s not something I’m ever going to get over, but I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith finally managed.

“I told you, it’s alri--”

“No,” Keith said, laying a hand atop one of Lance’s as the other boy looked up in wide-eyed surprise, eyes flitting across Keith’s face. “It’s not alright. No one should have to go through that.”

Something seemed to deflate a little in Lance at that, his shoulders softening, hand relaxing where it rested under Keith’s own.

“Thank you, Keith,” Lance said and smiled, a bit shyly, but smiled all the same which was all that Keith cared about at that moment.

And in that instance, in the halflight of dusk, Keith suddenly found himself wondering why he had ever tried to leave at all. Why he had thought that anywhere else could hold an allure for him when Lance was standing right there, eyes wide and open, the beginnings of trust and glimpses of what ifs forming in their blue depths.

And maybe it was because Keith could actually start to see what staying in Arus could be like, because for the first time he wanted to take a chance on someone else, lay all his cards out on the table, that he took a small step forward, the seat of the bike pressing into his hips. And maybe it was because for once, Keith wanted to feel something out of his control, wanted to see what would happen if he let someone in, that he leaned forward slightly, tilting his head. And maybe, just maybe, it was because it felt _right_ when he was around Lance and he wanted to hold onto that feeling, that he placed his other hand over Lance’s where it rested on the handlebars.

Keith looked up at Lance from beneath his bangs, the close space between their faces stirring with the mingling of their breaths, short and quick. He knew this was dangerous, knew that he was opening himself up for disaster, but somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. So Keith closed his eyes, closed himself off to all sensation other than the tingling presence of Lance and the warmth of his breath on the other side of his lids.

He waited, ignoring the seconds that passed, letting Lance decide, hoping he would take the proffered gesture. And then a forehead pressed against Keith’s, a nose brushing softly next to his own, and he exhaled gently, something warm and fluttering unfurling in his chest.

They stood like this for a moment, revelling in the buzz of cicadas, their echoing heartbeats, and each other. Keith wondered what would happen if he opened his eyes. If he would be able to see Lance’s freckles, to count them all, scattered like stardust across his cheeks. If Lance’s eyes would be open too, and how many shades of blue would be able to pick out in them.

Keith lifted his lashes from his cheeks, glancing at Lance through their inky curtain, and his heart nearly stopped at the sight. His eyes were closed, his brows drawn tight together. But the real punch to the gut was the line of unshed tears glistening precariously at the bottom of his eyes.

Without thinking, Keith reached up to wipe it away, but Lance caught Keith’s hand in his own, holding it pressed to his face, exhaling shakily and opening his eyes.

“Lance…”

“You know,” Lance said quietly, jaw moving minutely against Keith’s palm, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Keith’s breath hitched in his throat, the echo of those words crashing into his ears like waves. “Then why don’t you?” he whispered, even more gently than when he said it before.

Lance sighed softly, his breath ghosting across Keith’s lips. “Because I think I could fall in love with you.”

And then, Lance tilted his head, brushing a barely-there kiss against the corner of his mouth, and Keith’s heart leapt into his throat.

Lance stepped away, releasing Keith’s hand from where it still cradled his cheek, gripping it tightly before placing it gently back onto Red’s handlebars.

“Goodnight, Keith,” Lance whispered, eyes not leaving Keith’s as he walked backwards towards the garage.

It wasn’t until Lance had disappeared completely back into the warm glare of the garage’s lights that Keith found his motor skills once again, belatedly whispering “goodnight,” to nothing but the night air around him. He climbed onto his bike, letting nothing but muscle memory take over as he kicked it to life and and made the drive to Altea.

He made the motions of parking, unstrapping his things, and trekking back into Shiro’s villa. He greeted his brother, but the look on Keith’s face must have been clue enough to Shiro that Keith needed a minute. He escaped into his room, dropping his bags at his side as he leaned back against the closed door.

Gently, so so gently, he touched tentative fingers to the corner of his mouth, the heat in his face extending even there, a buzzing reminder of what had just happened, of what could have been. But it didn’t feel like regret or a missed chance. Instead, it felt more like a promise of what could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick things before we leave you. First and foremost, sorry about the ending. Ish. Feel free to yell at us in the comments. We promise we’ll respond to just about anything except death threats.
> 
> Second, the aquarium where Lance works is a very real place and it’s amazing! Dani can attest to this, as I dragged her there and it was super cute and fun and it’s one of my favorite places in the world (and Dani definitely bought a $45 sweatshirt in the giftshop and did not regret a single dime of her money going to them bECAUSE THE MANATEES NEED MORE LETTUCE OKAY?). If you’re interested in learning more about Mote and their amazing mammal and turtle rescue (which I highly recommend, as you can check out a live feed of Hugh and Buffett), you can check out this link here. 
> 
> And finally, we just wanted to let you guys know that we’re gonna take a short hiatus while we work on a thesis and finals (and weather the S8 drop…), so expect us back some time in January. We should at the very least have updates by then. Thanks for reading and generally being awesome people <333
> 
> Spanish for this chapter:  
> \--Comó te atreves a seguir llamando. No lo puedo creer, Hijo de Puta. Después de todo lo que le has hecho [How dare you keep calling. I can’t fucking believe you, you asshole. After all you did to him--]  
> \--Podemos hablar sobre estó mas rato...sí quieres [We can talk about this later...if you want]  
> \--No te olvides de llevarlo a la puerta [Don’t forget to walk him out]  
> \--¿Qué paso con lo del corazón de cristal? [What happened to the glass heart thing?]  
> \--Él es envoltorio [He’s bubble wrap]
> 
>  
> 
> Even more writing shenanigans:
> 
> Dani: Bruh I have the garage scene In My Head and boy is it beautiful. The breath of an almost kiss between them. Fingertips and night air…. Like… I’m dying  
> Liv: AHAHGIRAOFHEWIOFJEIOS  
> HGEIAORGHIOEAGVRIOHE  
> SITEOAWHIOAHEIAOFGEHIAWO STOP sotp sotheoah  
> Dani: Omg did you seize?  
> Liv: You gave me a stroke  
> Dani: GNWEOGEOSWGOINAW LMAAAAOOO
> 
> Liv: what did you have before? I liked it  
> Dani: (ctrl+v) Colchester Archaeological Report 10: Roman pottery from excavations in Colchester, 1971-86  
> Dani: LOLWRONG FUCKING KEY SHORTCUT OMG  
> Liv: HAHAHAH I’M DEAD


	7. Into the Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance has more than a few frank conversations, Keith is bad with names, there are some fireworks, and the authors have no brakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE’RE SORRY OMG THIS TOOK SO LONG STUPID SCHOOL STUPID LIFE. FUCK A DEGREE FUCK A JOB WHO NEEDS THEM. Given the choice, we’d put everything on hold to work on this (highkey we’re obsessed with our own fic, it’s fine) but alas. Earwax.  
> Anyways! Like the last chapter, you may notice there is a pretty natural stopping point about 2/3 of the way through, but because of the scenes that come after, we decided to keep them in this chapter since they most benefit from being in Lance’s POV. And also, up to that point was only 18k and we felt bad giving a shorter update than normal after being away for so long. And yes, we know we have a problem for thinking 18k is a short update. Sue us. Long story short, this is our longest chapter yet. We’re not sorry.  
> Also, who changed the rating to Mature???? Certainly not us >_>... Weeeiiiirrdddd… 
> 
> As always, a big shout-out/thank you to our invaluable betas, Jenna [@invisiblink](https://invisiblink.tumblr.com) and Memphis [@emphasis-all-mine](https://emphasis-all-mine.tumblr.com) and at [seven league boots (memphis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memphis) here on AO3 (psst, if you haven’t already, you should really read Paper Skin, it’s a fucking masterpiece).
> 
> In case you missed it, we now have art!  
> [Here](http://artistic-snachel.tumblr.com/post/181227863586/a-recent-commission-i-did-for-snowthunder-and) is the amazing commission piece by [@artistic-snachel](https://www.artistic-snachel.tumblr.com)  
> And [here](https://apfelm00s.tumblr.com/post/181405973216/i-got-csp-yesterday-and-wanted-to-try-it-out-so-i#notes) and [here](https://apfelm00s.tumblr.com/post/181437409391/sketches-for-salty-kisses-because-i-can-lance#notes) are the beautiful sketches by [@apfelm00s](https://www.apfelm00s.tumblr.com). We’re not freaking out, nope. It’s fine. We’re totally calm.
> 
> Okay, these notes are ridiculously long, let’s get down to it.
> 
> tl;dr: we’re sorry we took forever, please take your time, mind the new rating.
> 
> Songs for Ch 6:  
> [Into the Ocean by Blue October](https://open.spotify.com/track/2SiqlgLMfKQbczSMRp8drY?si=0bCQrWfBQs-dscw6pJO1pQ)  
> [Stay by the Aces](https://open.spotify.com/track/0FixIGw105Qpuv9jqvYijj?si=6r9fPZQ8R6O9zAnh1kjuvw)  
> [Don’t Go Breaking My Heart](https://open.spotify.com/track/79Mjfhh393dZdAsTvUFDR6?si=qh-2y1StRIy5yJhk8VdkUw)  
> [Rollercoaster by Bleachers](https://open.spotify.com/track/5L95vS64rG1YMIFm1hLjyZ?si=Vul0LB5mRQaneWmUWfDVuA)  
> Fourth of July by Fall Out Boy  
> [Timebomb by Walk The Moon](https://open.spotify.com/track/6GqRl2u7LIW93T8Vi5LnXU?si=dr9xm3cqQaKl7cDNtMLBOw)

Lance was pacing.

He traced zig-zag patterns across his room, feet shuffling across carpet and hardwood as he bounced from his bed to his dresser to his turtle poster from Mote and back to the bed to start the pattern over again. At some point, fatigue began to settle into his shoulders, dragging them forward and curved, but the restless motion of his feet continued. And if only he could sleep then maybe he would feel better. Maybe his own words would stop playing on repeat in his head, clanging against his skull like the drip-drip-drip of a broken faucet.

But instead, he paced, tracing well-worn paths into his carpet.

 _Because I think I could fall in love with you_.

Lance stopped mid-step and flopped backwards onto his bed with a groan, hands covering his face.

“Shit,” he mumbled into his palms for probably the hundredth time that night. Morning? Lance wasn’t sure. Some indeterminate time between when he had come home from the garage and when the birds would begin their morning choruses.

What he did know, however, was that he couldn’t sleep, his throat was dry, and thoughts of a surly photographer with a smoking hot motorcycle wouldn’t leave him in peace.

Something about Keith had set the urge to move deeply within Lance, made him restless and unsatisfied in a way he hadn’t realized he was before. The desire for something more burned hot and bright in his chest, burned like fire in his veins, burned at his lips where he could still feel the softness of Keith’s cheek, the barest hint of his gentle, pouting mouth.

And so Lance found himself pacing once more.

At some point, in a distant part of his mind, Lance could discern that things were changing outside his window. Black became grey and the heavy silence of the night broke into something stirringly pre-dawn. It was not long after this that Lance’s door flew open, catching him halfway between his bed and his bookshelf.

Veronica stood in the doorframe, her figure backlit ominously by the hallway nightlight. One look at her face after she flicked on the bedroom light, however, and Lance’s younger sibling instincts kicked into overdrive, feeding his fight or flight with an influx of adrenaline.

“Vero?”

“My car. Twenty minutes.”

Lance was taken aback by the short, clipped order, surprised it hadn’t been the tongue lashing that he was half expecting.

“Twenty minutes? Wait...what time is it anyways?"

Veronica stared him dead in the eyes. “Five. Thirty.”

“No…” Lance lunged across the room for his phone, tapping the lock screen awake. “Shit. When did that happen?”

“Somewhere around your thousandth lap around the room. Did you know you stomp when you’re upset?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Car. Twenty minutes.”

To say that Lance was more than a little concerned was a gross understatement. Veronica’s was a silent but vicious kind of anger, slow to build but deadly to those caught on the wrong end of it. He hardly ever saw her with such a thunderous look on her face. Being woken up by Lance’s pacing couldn’t be the only source of her ire. Clearly he was in deep shit, but for what he couldn’t say.

Twenty minutes later, Lance was in the driveway standing beside Veronica’s dark green Ford Focus, a soft pair of joggers on and sneakers tied tight. You know, just in case.

He had skipped his usual skincare routine in the interest of time (and his life), and he could already feel the brutal humidity attacking his pores.

Veronica stepped out of the house, keys jingling in her hand as she pressed the unlock button.

“You know,” Lance said, “if you’re gonna kill me you should at least let Mamí know. She’d probably like the heads up.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna kill you. Gentle maiming though, that’s not off the table.”

Lance popped open the passenger door and slid into the seat. “Well, that’s comforting.”

Veronica backed out of the driveway and headed into town, turning the radio halfway up to play quietly in the background. Lance was content to sit in silence and watch the morning grow outside the car windows. He wasn’t quite ready to approach whatever catastrophe he had apparently caused to work his eldest sister up this much, and if she wasn’t bringing it up then neither was he.

They cruised around Arus, the sky slowly transforming from grey to pink to blue. The roads were relatively empty, typical of an early Sunday morning, yet the drive-thru at Starbucks somehow still managed to boast a healthy line.

Once they made it to the window, Veronica handed Lance an overly tall, clear plastic cup, a spiral of whipped cream sticking out of the top.

Lance raised an eyebrow as she pulled out of the parking lot. “So the venti was for me, huh? I thought you were mad at me.”

“It’s a venti kind of conversation.”

Lance frowned at his drink. “I’m not sure I want this now.”

“Oh no,” Veronica said, speeding down the empty street. “You’re not getting out of this. You woke me up, you pay the consequences. This is happening.”

Lance groaned and threw his head back against the seat.

Veronica flicked him on the knee. “Oh relax, it’s not all bad. Besides,” her voice grew softer as they drove off the mainland, the water glistening a bright jewel green beneath the bridge, “I have something I want to tell you, too.”

“And it required a kidnapping?”

“Well, _clearly_ you also have something on your mind. I just thought you’d want to talk about it.”

“Me? Nope. Nothing to say here. All hunky dory peachy keen.”

“Fine, I’ll go first,” Veronica said. “I have a girlfriend.”

“What?!”

Veronica pulled into an empty gravel lot and cut the engine. “Come on,” she sighed, opening the door. “Walk with me a little.”

Lance scrambled out of the car, barely remembering to grab his sweating plastic cup. “Woah woah woah, wait a second! You can’t just drop something like that and walk away!”

“Then catch up!”

Lance ran after his sister, following her down a sun-bleached sidewalk towards where it led to a boardwalk entrance. He ducked underneath the overhanging mangrove branches, his drink feeling colder in his hand beneath the shade. Veronica led them through a winding path, until they reached a dead-end where a strip of sun-bleached, salt-encrusted walkway stuck out into the water.

Veronica leaned her arms across the railing, swirling the remnants of the frozen drink with her straw. Lance mirrored her stance, but regarded her cautiously out of the corner of his eye. Despite her casual tone, Lance could sense an underlying nervousness, some kind of tension she was keeping close to her chest.

Lance looked out around them, taking in the still water barely lapping at the boardwalk’s piers, the boat-free bay stretching before them, the tangle of mangroves spread out behind them. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place he would have expected his sister to bring him.

“So, why here?”

Veronica shrugged. “I found this spot a while back--when everything between Mamí and Dad was going down--and I’ve just kept coming back.” She smiled. “It actually reminds me of you a bit.”

“Oh? Because I’m so calming and beautiful?”

“Mmm no, more because you’re a gnarled tangle of tree roots and brackish water.”

“You’re brackish water,” Lance muttered, pouting into the distance.

Veronica snickered and Lance couldn’t help but smile a little. He’d never been the type of person to pick a favorite sibling, but neither could he deny that he and Veronica had always had a special relationship. Out of his four brothers and sisters, Veronica had always been the one who understood Lance best, and vice versa. Maybe, Lance mused, that was more true than he had previously thought.

“So…” Lance said, tapping at the cheap plastic cup in his hands. “A girlfriend, huh?”

Veronica nodded, catching Lance’s eyes, and he recognized a familiar sparkle, that trademark Sanchez grin.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “We met at a talk series for women in STEM early last semester. We started chatting, and I asked her out. I didn’t want to say anything until we knew it was serious, but…”

“But it’s serious now?”

“Like, tell Dad serious,” she said.

Lance fell silent, listening to the gentle lapping of waves against the boardwalk.

“You wanna tell Dad?” Lance asked quietly.

“I need him to know,” Veronica said. “I don’t want to hide this part of my life. I...I’m in love with her.”

For a moment, Lance could only stare at his sister, completely and utterly floored by the unwavering determination he saw shining in her eyes. Though they were the most similar out of all their siblings, there was a steely core to Veronica that Lance had always envied. She knew what she wanted and how to get it.

He only wished he had that kind of conviction.

“I’m happy for you, Vero,” Lance said finally.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’?”

Lance set his drink aside, folding his fingers together. “No, no 'but', I really am happy for you. I just--” Lance took a breath. “I know you and Dad have always been close. I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”

“That’s exactly why I want to tell him.”

Lance’s head snapped up to his sister's, but she was looking out towards the bay, cloud of chin-length hair framing her face like a curtain.

“Lance...what Dad did to you was wrong.” Veronica looked down at her hands, fiddling with a plain silver band that rested on her index finger. “I remember the whole thing, you know. I remember watching your hands shake when you told him, the look on your face. You looked so scared, but...I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as brave as you were at that moment. I may not have said it at the time, but I was--I _am_ really proud of you.”

Lance blinked hard against the swell of emotion coursing through him, but even so he could still feel as a single tear escaped, tracing a burning track down his cheek.

“It wasn’t until I found myself suddenly in your shoes that I realized just how brave it was,” Veronica continued. “Because, honestly, I am _terrified_ of telling him.”

Lance cleared his throat against the lump he could feel forming in it. “So, why are you?”

“Truthfully?” Veronica said, gently bumping his shoulder. “I’m doing it for you. And me, of course, but I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes how badly he’s fucked up.”

Lance’s eyes slid over to see his sister giving him a wry smile. Despite that, a familiar sense of guilt welled up in him, and he reached out and placed a hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “Vero, you don’t have to do this, least of all for me.”

Her grin widened, but somehow it became something softer, gentler. “But I _want_ to. I think you’ve suffered alone in this long enough. Don’t you?”

Lance could feel his sister searching for something in his eyes, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to find it. “It’s been okay,” he said, dropping his hand and shifting his gaze. “I’m mostly over it by now. I mean, it _has_ been six years.”

“No offense, but I call bullshit. I know Dad’s been calling. Mamí told me.”

“ _Mierda_.”

For a moment, Lance thought that Veronica was going to dig deeper, but the smirk she gave him instead sent his stomach swooping. “She also told me about some hot piece of action that came in on a Ducati?”

Heat flooded his cheeks, and Lance prayed that he didn’t look as red as he felt. “Ducati hottie? Can’t say that I remember.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that there isn’t some dark-haired, goth-lite beauty named Keith that you severely undercharged specialized parts for?”

“No?”

“And also kissed goodnight?”

“Oh my god, it was just on the cheek! That doesn’t even cou--shit.”

Veronica’s grin was practically predatory.

“I knew she was spying,” Lance muttered. He shook his head as he turned back out towards the bay. “It’s...not that big of a deal.”

Veronica ducked into his line of sight, raising an eyebrow. “But do you like him?”

“I--”

“And no nonsense, Lance,” Veronica raised an imperious finger. “I was honest with you, so you can be honest with me. Do you like this guy?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken your evil venti bribe,” Lance pouted. But she had a point--the least he could do was tell his sister the truth.

Lance drew in a breath of salt-tinged air, letting it out in one long sigh. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice barely more than a whisper. “I like him.”

Veronica nudged his shoulder. “So then what’s the problem? Does he not like you back? Do I need to kick his ass?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “No, Ronnie, you don’t have to kick his ass.”

“Damn,” Veronica said. “My girlfriend’s been teaching me Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and I wanted to try it out.”

“Of course you do. But the answer’s still no. I don’t think liking me back is the problem.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“I mean, judging by the fact that I told him I wanted to kiss him and he didn’t immediately throw sand in my face…”

“Sand? Last I checked, Mamí’s garage isn’t on the beach.”

“Well,” Lance said, scratching the back of his neck. “I might’ve said it twice? On two separate occasions?”

Veronica huffed dramatically. “Oh, hell, you’re even more of a mess than I thought.” She turned to lean against the railing, gesturing for Lance to do the same. “We’re gonna be here for a while, so spill.”

Lance sighed but followed suit, settling in against the weather-worn wood next to his sister before he started speaking. He told her about Keith arriving, their first few days of tense interacting and, before he knew it, the entirety of the last three weeks just flew out of him, a torrent of words he didn’t even know he had. He talked about Keith and Shiro’s visit to Mote, Keith hanging out with him at the daycare, the bonfire, the calls from their dad, even the bags he’d seen strapped to the back of Keith’s motorcycle. He didn’t leave a single detail out--not Keith’s photography, not the four shots of tequila, not even those damn piercings that glinted so nicely in the sun everytime Keith put his hair up.

By the time Lance had finished, he and Veronica had given up on standing entirely, opting instead to simply sit on the boardwalk, backs to the railing, legs sprawled out before them. Veronica had one knee propped up, an elbow resting atop it as she drummed her fingers against her cheek.

“So, what I’m hearing is, this boy is head over heels for you and decided to stay?”

“What? No no no,” Lance said. “Weren’t you listening? Even Shiro says he doesn’t stay in one place for long, and he had his bags packed.” Lance frowned, tracing a knot in the wood beneath his fingers. “If anything, this is already borrowed time.”

Veronica threw her head back against the railing. “Leandro Riel Sanchez, so help me, I am going to throw you off this pier.”

“What?! What for?”

“Because, _imbécil_ ,” she pivoted her head, pinning him down with a stare, “you finally find someone you seem to like--and I mean really like, not just like in passing because it’s what you think everyone expects of you--and you’re running away.”

Lance drew his knees up to his chest. “I’m not running away. If anything, Keith’s the one running.”

“You sure about that? Did you even ask him?”

“What?”

“Did you ask him if he’s staying?”

“Well--no, but I don’t really see the point. He came here for Shiro so once he leaves, there’s no reason for him to stay.” Lance tucked his chin into his arms, grumbling under his breath. “Besides, it’s not like _I’m_ going anywhere.”

Veronica sighed. “I know you said you’re pretty much over the Dad thing, but did you ever stop to really think about it? To understand how it might still be affecting you?”

“I thought you were getting a degree in software engineering, not psychology.”

“I don’t have to be a psychologist to see that you’re more torn up about this than you like to let on. When’s the last time you went out with a boy? Hell, when’s the last time you went out with someone who wasn’t some ditzy resort gringa?”

Lance opened his mouth, but Veronica held up a hand.

“And I don’t mean random party hookups. When’s the last time that you let yourself know someone? Like really know them?”

Lance’s jaw clicked shut, and he dropped his gaze.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I swear. I’m just trying to understand.”

“I guess…” Lance paused, took a deep breath before trying again. “I guess since before the fight with Dad--with James.”

Veronica’s voice was gentle when she asked, “And why do you think that is?”

“I--I don’t know. Lots of reasons? I just...Look, I know what you’re trying to do but Keith’s leaving at some point, and I’m probably going to stay here, like always, and--and I can’t stop thinking about what happens when he gets bored of me, or when he leaves, or--” Lance took a shaky breath. “I’m so scared of knowing him, because that means...that means he’ll know me, and I don’t want to be found wanting. Not again.”

Tears were falling in earnest now, and he pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to stem the tide.

“Lance,” Veronica said, grabbing his wrists and pulling on them gently. “Lance, look at me.”

Lance gazed up at his sister, the details of her face clouded by the tears still spilling over.

“This isn’t like with Dad,” she said fiercely. “You can’t live your whole life expecting everything and everyone to leave. And most of all, you’re not lacking in _anything_ , do you hear me? You can have these things, Lance. You could have him. You just have to let yourself.”

Veronica released one of his wrists to wipe at his cheek. “Dad doesn’t own you. In fact, he doesn’t even deserve you. You are so much more than whatever that _cabrón_ thinks of you. You deserve to be happy.”

Lance shook his head and pulled away.

“Fine,” Veronica said, her voice hardening. “Don’t believe me? Let me put it another way. Just because you don’t let yourself love anyone doesn’t mean Dad’s suddenly going to be back in your life.”

Lance felt like she just stuck a red-hot poker through his ribs, but Veronica kept going.

“You’ve got so much heart, Lance, so much to give. Why are you trying to hide the best part of yourself?” Veronica sighed, pulling her glasses off of her nose, wiping at the glass with the corner of her shirt. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, or even to start something with this Keith guy--not unless you really want to, which it sounds like you might. But you can’t keep tiptoeing around this town for the rest of your life. When are you finally going to let yourself go after what _you_ want?”

Lance let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding in, body shaking with the sudden release of tension. He let his head loll back against the wooden rail behind him, eyes cast upwards to expansive blue sky.

“I guess--I guess I don’t know what I want.”

Veronica huffed out a laugh. “Judging by the look on your face earlier, I find that hard to believe.”  

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, please. You looked like you were about to melt the entire time you were talking about the guy. It was disgusting. It’s the same look you get when you talk about that weird turtle of yours.”

Lance shot his sister an unimpressed look. “First of all, Edgar is a delight and you know it. Second of all, are you trying to comfort me or insult me?”

“Both, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Veronica pushed off from the now warm boardwalk and brushed off her hands. “I’m serious, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you talk about a person that way.”

She offered her hand to Lance, who took it, pulling himself up.

“Is that a good thing?” Lance asked.

“I think it could be. You deserve something real, Lance.”

Lance sighed and picked up his long empty cup. “So what do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know, I’m not you. But I think doing whatever makes you happy is a good start.”

Lance gave Veronica a small smile. “Thanks, Vero.”

“I’d say anytime, but honestly? That was exhausting. Don’t make me do that again for like...three years. At least.”

Lance’s smile grew. “You got it, Vero. Now, can we go home? I really need a nap. And maybe some aloe, because _someone_ dragged me out of the house before I could put on sunscreen.”

Veronica flicked him in the forehead before heading back down the walkway and towards the parking lot. “May I remind you? Five. Fucking. Thirty.”

“That’s not even that bad,” Lance grumbled, rubbing at his skin.

“No, you’re right. Three would’ve been much worse. Oh, wait!”

Lance rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face felt more effortless this time. “Here, we go…”

 

~^~^~^~

 

When Veronica pulled into the driveway, the rest of the Sanchez clan could be seen bustling around the kitchen through the front windows. Lance and Veronica entered the house to three sets of raised eyebrows, but they waved their family off, each heading for their respective rooms.

Lance quietly closed his door, and pulled his dark blue curtains firmly shut, trying his best to recreate the night he had paced his way through. He flopped onto his bed and burrowed into the blankets, turning five different ways before finding a comfortable spot. Only then did he dare to approach his thoughts once more.

Lance liked Keith.

He couldn't deny or avoid this knowledge any more than he could avoid the fact this his eyes were blue or that he spoke Spanish. It simply was. Whether or not he would act on that knowledge? Now that was a different story.

Keith had been leaving, the bags on his bike made that abundantly clear. But then again, what if he had been serious when he said he might stay for longer? What if he was still here? He would leave eventually, that was for certain. Shiro didn't actually live here and there was nothing else holding Keith here other than the convenience of family to stay with. So at the very most, Lance had the rest of the summer until Shiro left, taking Keith with him.

Two months.

Lance could have for perhaps two months something closer to a real connection than he'd had in years. He closed his eyes gently and let himself imagine, if only for a moment, what it would be like to surrender to this want, to let himself drift away in Keith's wake, no holds barred, no reservations. But even if he let this happen, let himself go after what he wanted for once in his life, there was still a painful goodbye waiting for him in August, possibly sooner, and that scared him more than anything.

_I think doing whatever makes you happy is a good start._

Lance turned over once more and snatched his phone off the bedside table, dragging it beneath the covers with him. He scrolled through some tabbed articles he had been reading, tired eyes blurry with the threat of sleep crowding into his head. Once he found the one he was looking for, he copied the link and sent it off with a quick message before he could reconsider, quickly locking his screen.

A few moments later, Lance’s phone buzzed, pulling him back from the edge of sleep. He peered at his phone with bleary eyes but managed to make out the message.

 

 **Tila Tekeithla** **[9:24am]**

_Read this last week really good stuff_

_Remind me next time to show you some photos from our Bahamas trip when I was in high school_

_I think I have one of Shiro screaming at a shark_

The smile that spread across Lance’s face was small, barely there on the edge of consciousness, but it was there all the same as he fell into sleep.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Lance dipped the pH wand into the top of the moon jellyfish tank, watching the numbers click by as the tiny monitor took the reading. After a moment, the machine beeped and Lance pulled the probe out, marking down the results on his clipboard. He repeated the process as he moved down the line of tanks, resetting the monitor, checking the levels, and taking notes.

It was simple, repetitive work, but Lance always looked forward to these calm lab days at Mote. As much as he loved showing families around and playing the energetic tour guide, something about the meticulousness of lab work settled a bit of that restless energy he always seemed to have.

After he finished out the row of jelly tanks, he checked back over all the numbers, nodding to himself once he was satisfied they were all within normal parameters. As he plopped himself down at one of the lab computers, his supervisor, Florona, came in through the backdoor, sporting her usual regal grace.

“How are my babies looking today?” she asked, grabbing the clipboard Lance offered to her.

“Everyone seems to be in good shape,” Lance replied, opening the aquarium’s internal database system. “Tanks three and seven will need cleaning soon though--the pH is a little off.”

Florona handed the clipboard back so Lance could input the numbers and walked over to the back wall where the upside-down jellyfish tank sat, the water filters humming steadily.

“Hello, darlings,” Florona said, reaching in and cupping her hand under one of the jellyfish and lifting it up.

Lance shook his head fondly and went back to the computer. The jellies weren’t by any means the most exciting members of the aquarium, nor were they Lance’s specialty, but Florona’s infectious love for the little plankton certainly made these lab rounds more enjoyable.

“So, Lance,” she said, setting the cassiopeia back down. “I’ve been meaning to ask you how your thesis is coming along. I know you asked for a display case on the main floor.”

Lance sighed, finishing up with the data logging and swiveling his chair back to the main tank. “Oh, you know, it’s coming. I’ve been a bit...distracted lately, but I’m hoping after the summer I can really get working.”

“Distracted?” Florona asked. “Are you talking about that guy you took around the exhibits last week?”

Lance’s face flooded with heat. “Wh--no! Keith? No. No no no. I just meant with the turtle nests and my other job. It’s been a busy season, that’s all.”

“Mhmm,” Florona hummed, and Lance had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t believe him.

“Besides,” Lance said, crossing the lab and peering through the tank out onto the main exhibit floor, “you know the only distraction I need in my life is my girl Edgar.”

“What is it with you and that turtle?”

“We understand each other on a spiritual level,” Lance said, his eyes skimming across the water-blurred guests on the other side of the tank. “She sees me.”

One wavy figure in particular caught his eye, crouched as they were next to the sea horses, a camera pressed to their face. The sight left a fluttering in Lance’s chest.

“Lance, she’s blind.”

“It’s just a part of her charm,” he said distantly. He could feel his brows knit together with something like suspicion as the guest milled ever closer to the tank Lance was currently standing on the other side of. It wasn’t until they were directly across from Lance that it hit him like a freight train. His features were still somewhat blurred by layers of water and glass, but they were distinctly Keith’s, glinting silver earrings and all.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest as he watched Keith line up a shot. There was an expression of intense concentration on his face, his eyes slightly narrowed and his brows ever-so-slightly scrunched, but Lance recognized that same deep-seated peace that he had seen at the bonfire. There was surety in his movements, no hesitation as he lifted the camera, fingers moving deftly across the buttons and dials, fiddling with the focus. Lance could almost hear the now-familiar _shhk_ of the shutter.

Lance hadn’t realized before that Keith shot with both eyes open.

“--nce. Lance?” Florona sidled up next to him, peering through the tank as well. “What _are_ you looking at?”

Keith lowered the camera away from his face, looking at the little screen with a ridiculously adorable pout to his mouth.

“Let me guess...Keith?”

Lance didn’t even have time to protest, because through the tank, he saw Keith’s eyes widen in surprise, his head snapping up, gaze catching Lance’s through the tank.

Lance gave a sheepish smile, hand raising in a little wave. “Hi?” He knew that Keith couldn’t hear him but the greeting slipped out regardless.

“Oh yeah, definitely not a distraction,” Florona said, and Lance didn’t have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to care, though, not when Keith smiled back, a small but bright grin breaking across his face.

Lance could feel his own smile grow, especially when Keith, too, mouthed a silent “Hi” back through the tank.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Florona said. “Just go take your lunch break.”

Lance looked at the clock and back down at his supervisor. “But--”

“Go,” she told him firmly, though not unkindly. “You’re useless to me right now anyway.”

Lance turned back to where Keith’s wavy figure still stood on the other side of the tank. He held up one finger before backtracking through the lab.

“You’re the best, Flo!” Lance called over his shoulder.

“Yes, I’m aware,” she chuckled. “And Lance?”

He turned at that, the door halfway open.

“I don’t want to see you back here for an hour at the very least, you got it?”

“Aye aye, captain,” he saluted her as he slipped out the door.

Lance wove his way through the back hallways, zigzagging past co-workers and volunteers, giving only the most basic of greetings to those he saw. He was definitely rushing, there was no denying that, but the urge to make sure he hadn’t been imagining things, to make sure that it actually was Keith on the other side of that tank and not some illusion, drove his feet forward.

He all but burst out into the main exhibit, head swivelling from side to side scanning the guests for a familiar mop of unruly black hair.

He couldn’t ignore the intense feeling of relief as he spotted him, still standing in front of the backlit tank, fingers fiddling idly with the camera settings.

“Keith?”

Keith’s head shot up, that smile breaking across his face once more. “Lance.”

Lance stopped in front of him, aware of the tension thrumming between them, his eyes catching on the corner of Keith’s mouth before flickering back up again. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

Though they didn’t say anything further, Lance felt his words from just two days before hanging in the air between them as he sank into those violet eyes.

_I think I could fall in love with you._

Lance cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets if only to stop himself from reaching out and brushing a wayward lock of hair out of Keith’s face. “So...what brings you here?”

Keith held up his camera. “Didn’t have this last time, so I thought I’d come by and get a few shots.” He scratched a little at his cheek, looking away. “That and I, uh, didn’t exactly catch everything from that tour you gave me and Shiro? I wanted to figure out what I missed.”

Lance laughed. “Was I that bad of a tour guide?”

Keith’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Not exactly. I--well, you...you’re really bright when you talk about this stuff, and I got distracted, okay?”

“Bright? I mean, my mom always thought so, but--”

“No, I meant--you light up. You’re basically a human lens flare.”

“Oh,” Lance said intelligently. “Well, I hope that’s a good thing, or my only chance might be with J.J. Abrams.”

Keith snorted, and nodded, glancing down at the ground only to peer up coyly from beneath his lashes. “Believe me, it’s a very good thing.”

Lance’s heart beat faster in his chest, and he couldn’t help but think about how dangerous this boy was, how much power even a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth had over him. When had that happened?

“Careful, Kogane,” Lance said, winking. “You keep talking like that and I might start thinking you like me or something.”

“You? I’m just here for Edward,” Keith said, his small smile broadening into a smirk.

“You mean Edgar?”

Keith laughed, his expression light. “Yeah, I told you I wasn’t paying much attention.”

Lance tried to tamp down that lightness in his chest, to keep himself from feeling buoyed by the soft look in Keith’s eyes.

“So…” Lance started, shifting his weight and rocking back on his heels. “Would me being a lens flare be your way of telling me to skedaddle so you can take pictures, or…”

Keith shook his head, smiling fondly. “I told you already, I appreciate the company.”

Something close to hope bloomed in Lance’s chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So, think you might have the time to finally introduce me to Edwin?”

“ _Edgar_.”

Keith laughed. “I know. I just wanted to see that face you make when I mess it up.”

Lance was smiling too much to really be mad. “Alright, Mullet, let’s go.”

He began to lead them back towards the main entrance, but their progress was waylaid every few steps when tank after tank grabbed Keith’s attention. Of course, Lance was more than happy to stop, to answer Keith’s questions, but truthfully Lance was completely enthralled watching Keith as he took his photos. It was after about the fifth tank that Lance started to notice Keith had a pattern of sorts. Whenever something caught his eye he would sidle up to the tank, cock his head this way and that before slowly, but confidently lifting the camera to his left eye. A few clicks of the dials, a breath in, and then _shhk!_

Keith released the breath he was currently holding, and gazed down at the playback menu to check his work. He made a small harumph noise that tugged at something in Lance’s chest as he looked back up.

“What?”

Lance knew he must have been smiling something soft and dumb, but he just couldn’t help it. “Nothing. Just…it’s kinda nice seeing you like this.”

Keith’s mouth twisted a little, but Lance swore that he could see a thin layer of blush creep onto his cheeks under the blue glow of the tanks. “Like what?”

Lance shrugged and continued walking past rows of cuttlefish. “Calm? I don’t know the exact word for it, but you seem...happier? Settled, maybe.”

Keith groaned. “You’re starting to sound like Shiro.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. He’s a smart guy.”

“Not smart enough to wear a fanny pack unironically though.”

Lance tried not to laugh as the image of big, buff Shiro in a Hawaiian shirt, rifling through a fanny pack in search of sunscreen, dropped into his mind. “Hey, I’ll have you know that those are coming back in style. They’re a statement.”

“Uh huh,” Keith said, ducking down to get a picture of the miniature seahorses. “A statement of insanity.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “That’s rich, coming from the guy wearing all black in the middle of summer in Florida.”

Keith stood, dusting off his knees. “It’s not like I had a lot of options. I didn’t exactly plan on staying in a place that has a resting temperature of eighty-five on a good day.”

“Valid point,” Lance said. He peered at Keith from the corner of his eye. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised you’re still here. I wasn’t expecting you to stay much longer than a week or so.”

“Neither was I.”

Lance stopped and Keith turned to face him, his face half-lit in the wavy, blue light of the tanks. “So what changed?”

Keith stared back for a moment, his eyes piercing through Lance’s before sliding away as he continued to move through the exhibit. “A few things,” he said.

Lance wanted so desperately to ask what exactly he meant by that, the question “Like what?” nearly spilling out of his mouth, but he stopped himself. Veronica had helped him to build the foundations of hope, but they were still new and fragile. If they crumbled now, Lance wasn’t sure where that would leave him.

So instead, he just left Keith’s answer hanging in the air, letting himself hope, however dangerous that might have been.

They trekked through the rest of the aquarium, the air between them relatively easy and relaxed despite the uncertainty Keith’s words had created. By the time they reached the front desk, however, Lance realized he’d burned through more than half of his lunch hour.

Keith noticed him glancing at the clock behind the front desk, a guilty look overtaking his features.

“Shit, that was your lunch break, wasn’t it?” Keith asked, hands fiddling with the zoom on his camera.

Lance waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just grab something from the vending machines.”

Keith frowned, looking even guiltier than he did before. “Let me at least get you something. I think there was a burger place close by?”

“No no, really that’s--”

“Lance!”

Lance turned to see Plaxum, her pigtails swishing as she waved him down from behind the front desk.

“Everything okay Plax?”

Plaxum nodded, shooting Lance a sly grin. “Florona says you’re not allowed back yet. Something about a distraction? Anyway, she said get out of here until you’re ‘focused’ again.”

Lance flushed, and he turned back to Keith who was looking at him with a slight smile on his face. “Apparently I’m free for lunch.”

Keith bit his lip. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’d get in more trouble if I stayed, trust me,” Lance said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Now, about those burgers.”

“Flo says to bring her back some fries!” Plaxum called out, and Lance shot her a glare.

“Oh she does, does she?”

“And don’t forget my ketchup!” came a voice from the intercom on the desk.

Keith snorted, and Lance almost forgot to pretend to be annoyed.

“Oh my god, let’s go before she asks me to get her a milkshake too,” Lance said, shoving Keith out the doors and into the bright sun.

Keith laughed again, and Lance revelled in the sound. “She seems like one hell of a boss.”

Lance shrugged as he led the way across the street to the building made of sun-bleached wood. “Yeah, Florona’s pretty great. Everyone is, really.” Lance took in the world around him, the vivid blue water, the green palms, the seabirds nesting amidst the various tree. “This is probably my favorite place in the world.”

“I can tell.” Keith walked in time with Lance, his gaze facing forward, but Lance could see the small sliver of a smile on his face from the corner of his eye.

The walk to the burger place was short--really just a hop across the street--but Lance was oddly thankful for the time out under the bright sun. Cast in the halflight of his mother’s garage, and then just now in the hazy blue backlight of the fish tanks, it was easy to convince himself of little smiles and subtle looks. But here, under the piercing clarity of daylight, these things weren’t just maybes or tricks of the light.

There was something utterly terrifying about seeing things so clearly for once. Yet, at the same time, it was just as thrilling to know that when Keith laughed at Lance’s jokes, or smiled shyly at him--the corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly--he meant it.

Lunch passed far too quickly, and before Lance knew it, Keith was tucking a credit card next to the bill and passing it right back to their server.

“Woah woah woah,” Lance said, lifting a hand to try and flag her down, but Keith grabbed it instead, bringing it down gently.

“My treat,” he said, touch lingering slightly too long, yet not nearly long enough. “It’s only fair, given that I monopolized your lunch break.”

Lance blushed and tried to ignore the way his heart tried to leap out of his chest.

“Yeah, well,” he said finally, pointing an accusing finger at Keith, “you realize this means I’m going to get you back for this, right?”

“I’m counting on it,” Keith said with that half-smirk, a little glint in his eyes.

Lance was sure he was redder than the sunburnt tourists at the table next to him, but he didn’t look away, probably couldn’t if he tried. Instead, he found himself diving in, plunging into the depths of Keith’s indigo eyes, searching for any sign that he didn’t really mean it, floundering when he found none.

Their server returned a few moments later, returning Keith’s card and giving Lance the chance to break his gaze away. He resisted the urge to reach up and see if his cheeks were as hot as they felt, opting instead to busy his hands with refolding his paper napkin into smaller and smaller squares while Keith signed the check.

As they made the walk back to Mote, Keith kept up a constant stream of questions, asking Lance about the native birds they could see nesting atop the trees, about boat speed restrictions in this part of the keys, even about the recent Red Tide influx.

At that, Lance made a face. “Yeah, it’s pretty nasty. Of course, most people only care because it hurts the tourism, but it kills a _lot_ of fish. Not to mention it smells downright nasty.”

“I wonder if there’s been any kind of work done on it. Like, a photojournalism piece on how its affecting things down here.”

Lance shrugged. “A few, but they weren’t very good. They didn’t really capture the right angle.” He slid a glance Keith’s way. “You should give it a go while you’re still here.”

“You think I’ve got the right angle?”

“I think you might.”

Keith opened his mouth to respond, but jolted slightly, words dying on his tongue as he reached a hand back to pull his phone from a pocket.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Lance peered over, sneaking a peak of what looked to be at least fifteen notifications crowding the screen. “Everything okay?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine, I just forgot I told Shiro I’d meet him downtown at two.”

Lance looked at his watch, his eyes widening. “How the fuck has it been three hours already?”

“And I didn’t even get to meet Eduardo.”

Lance rolled his eyes, knocking his shoulder gently into Keith’s. “It’s Edgar and you know it.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“Well,” Lance said, stopping at the edge of the parking lot, “it’s not the complete Mote experience until you’ve met her, so I guess you’re just gonna have to come back.”

Keith laughed softly, ducking his head. “I guess I will.”

“Yeah?” Lance tried to tamp down the swell of excitement he felt rise up in his chest, but it was pretty hard to combat when Keith was looking up at him through his eyelashes like that. It was even harder still when a smile broke across Keith’s face, scrunching his nose the tiniest bit.

“I’d say there’s a good chance of it. There’s this really great tour guide here after all. Knows a lot about sharks, really into turtles. He’s pretty cute too. You know him?”

Lance felt his cheeks flood with heat. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of who you’re talking about.”

“So, do think I’ve got a chance with him?”

Lance worked his lower lip between his teeth and looked into Keith’s eyes, seeing nothing but earnestness and patience, like he would accept any answer Lance would give him. And it was that realization that made Lance just a bit bold. “You just might.”

“You know,” Keith said, his smile sharpening into something daring, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

In the broad daylight, with Keith standing a few feet in front of him, the words felt different, and it wasn’t just because Lance wasn’t the one who said them. When Keith said it, Lance realized, not only was it a statement, a desire, a wish, but it was a promise too.

Lance eyed the toe of his shoe, cheeks burning, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Then why don’t you?” he asked, echoing Keith from other nights past.

A moment of silence, and then, “I want you to be sure.”

Lance lifted his gaze, expecting sadness, anger--basically anything other than the gentle smile and patient eyes he saw on Keith’s face. He could feel his mouth moving silently, lips desperately trying to push out words his brain couldn’t possibly form.

Keith huffed out a breath, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly higher. “I’ll see you around, Lance.” He headed out towards his bike, the red paint glinting brightly in the sun. “And next time I better meet Eleanor!” he called over his shoulder.

Lance started at that, his brain kicking into restart. “It’s Edgar, you ass!”

Keith’s laughter was the only response Lance got, but it was the only one he needed.

As Keith kicked his bike to life and pulled out of the parking lot, Lance turned back towards the entrance his chest feeling lighter than it had in a good long while.

That is...until he realized he hadn’t gotten Florona her fries.

 

~^~^~^~

 

If Florona thought that Keith was a distraction then Allura must have thought he was a downright liability.

The first couple hours of Lance’s shift should have been a blissful respite from thoughts of those piercing indigo eyes and that hypnotizing laugh.  Given that he was constantly doing double takes at any dark-haired person that passed, however, Lance spent an inordinate amount of energy looking for him. And once Keith _did_ show up, well... Let’s just say Mrs. Haversham wasn’t pleased to have her peach bellini all over her peach sundress, even if they were, in Lance’s words, “impeccably paired.”

The lack of a tip was well worth the smile he got when he locked eyes with Keith, who was tucked into a lounge chair between Mrs. Haversham and the bar.

When Lance finally managed to make his way over to him, Keith’s wry smile reeked of mischief.

“So, how’s Ernesto?”

“Oh, so we’re still doing this?” Lance asked, planting a hand on his hip.

“I’m bad with names if I don’t have a face to put it to. Besides, it’s not my fault I haven’t met her yet.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “ _Edgar_ is doing just fine, thank you very much. She just had her check-up, and she even put on a few pounds finally.”

Keith cocked his head. “Do you normally try to bulk up your turtles?”

“Well, Edgar is a bit of a special case,” Lance said, giving Keith a slightly self-deprecating smile. “But you probably don’t want to hear me ramble about the average weight of sea turtles.”

“Try me.”

Lance blinked, searching for any sign of deceit, but Keith’s face showed no evidence of the teasing he was so used to getting from Pidge or even, on occasion, Hunk. Before he knew it, Lance was five species in, talking about the differences between green sea turtles and leatherbacks, and Keith’s face hadn’t lost any of the genuine interest that was etched into his features.

“Hold on,” Keith said, pausing Lance with a raised hand. “Are you trying to tell me there’s a turtle that weighs _more_ than a thousand pounds? I call bullshit.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond when a well-aimed lemon wedge hit him on the back of the head.

He whipped around, rubbing at the slightly damp spot in his hair. “Pidge, what the hell?!”

Pidge gestured to the line of drinks waiting at the bar, along with a slightly frantic-looking Hunk, and Lance was hit with the sudden realization that he was, in fact, still on the clock.

“Ah, shit,” Lance muttered, turning back to Keith. “Looks like you’ve been saved from Lance’s Turtle Rant.”

Keith smiled. “I didn’t really need saving, but I probably should stop making a habit of distracting you while you’re trying to work.”

Lance looked reluctantly back at the bar, wincing at the sheer number of drinks lined up. “Believe me, it’s a welcome distraction.”

Hunk waved Lance over, his face turning red in distress, and Lance sighed. “I should go before he has an aneurysm.”

Keith stood, straightening out his t-shirt, and Lance’s eyes totally didn’t catch on the tantalizing strip of skin along the waistband of his shorts. “That’s alright, I should get going anyways. I’ve got some freelance shit to catch up on.” He gathered a set of keys and a sun-bleached canvas bag. “I’ll see you around?”

Lance turned his tray in his hands. “Uh, yeah. Yeah sounds good.”

Keith raised a hand in farewell before turning and heading for the back gate, but as he neared the latched door, Lance was overwhelmed with the urge to keep Keith’s attention, even if for just a moment longer.

“Keith, wait!” Lance made his way across the pool deck as fast as he could without actually running.

Keith eyed him with raised brows but said nothing.

“What are you doing around five?”

“Probably trying to convince Shiro that it’s too early for dinner, why?”

“Well, Pidge, Hunk, and I were gonna go for a walk down the beach and back after work--it’s something we do every once and a while when we all have the time--and I know it doesn’t sound like the most exciting thing ever, but you’re, uh, welcome to join… If you want to that is.”

“Only if you finish your Turtle Rant.”

Lance smiled. “You got it.”

A small, bright green blur whizzed past Lance’s head, landing somewhere in the bushes with a rustle. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” He turned back towards the bar. “I’m coming!”

“You’d better go,” Keith chuckled, “I think Pidge is trying to get Hunk to give her an orange.”

“Still better than the Great Pomegranate Incident of twenty-sixteen.”

Keith lifted the latch on the gate, laughter still evident in his voice. “See you at five.”

Lance waved, walking backwards towards the bar, trying to fight the grin threatening to break across his face.

“Oh man, you’ve got it _bad_ ,” Pidge said once Lance had set his tray down and started piling up the drinks.

“Shut up, Pidge,” Lance said reflexively, hands slipping slightly on the condensation.

Pidge tossed a cocktail umbrella at his chest, purple bracelet jostling gently on her wrist.

“She’s got a point, you know,” Hunk said, shoving even more drinks in Lance’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this smitten since...well, ever.”

“I’m not _smitten_ ,” Lance protested, willing his face not to flush. “He asked me about Edgar is all.”

Hunk and Pidge shared a look that Lance did not care for one bit.

“Yeah, so you’re fucked,”  Pidge declared, propping her chin on the palm of her hand.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Lance said after a moment.

He hefted his tray up in a practiced motion and walked back out onto the pool deck, dropping off the various orders. He focused on smiling at the guests and setting the drinks down carefully, rather than think about the ways in which Keith had become a constant in almost every one of his thoughts, messing up all of Lance’s careful compartmentalizations and leaving him reeling in the best way.

But Lance didn’t think about that. Nope, not at all.

Lance set his tray full of empty glasses back down on the bartop, which was apparently all the permission needed for a full-on interrogation.

“So, did you kiss him yet?”

Lance’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. “Excuse me?”

“Because,” Pidge continued with barely a pause, “something must have happened for you two to get so chummy after how you were acting last week.”

Lance kept his face carefully blank and his voice prim. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Pidge snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh please, we know you told Keith you wanted to.”  

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, feeling what little control he had begin to crack.

“Keith told us,” Pidge said, much too smug for Lance’s taste.

“He did?” Lance was suddenly very fearful not only for _what_ Keith had told them but _when_.

Hunk turned a rather parental eye on Lance. “Yeah and he seemed really confused, dude. Honestly though, I don’t blame the guy.”

“Did you really say you wanted to be friends instead?” Pidge’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Because let me tell you, nobody within a ten mile radius of you two would believe that for a second.”

Lance could feel the tension building in his jaw, his words coming out short and clipped. “What _exactly_ did he tell you?”

“Oh, relax,” Pidge said, leaning into the back of her chair. “He just told us the stuff about the bonfire and then how weird you were acting at Mote.”

“ _And_ when we went kayaking,” Hunk said, raising a finger in warning. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that by the way.”

“He told you about the kayaking thing?”

Pidge tilted her head. “No…” Her grin turned almost predatory then, shooting ice through Lance’s veins. “But apparently you just did. What the hell happened there?”

“Nothing,” he said just a little too quickly.

Hunk raised a knowing brow. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Geez, you two are worse than my sister,” Lance grumbled, running his fingers over a whirl in the glossy, wooden bartop. “I tell a guy I want to kiss him, and suddenly everyone’s a critic.”

Pidge reached out, flicking his fidgeting fingers. “That’s because you haven’t yet, dumbass.”

“I told you, we decided to be friends. Nothing more.”

“You sure about that?” Hunk asked, leaning over the bar and resting his head on his hand. “Because, no offense, but friends don’t look at each other like that. I know you’re flirty, but you’re not _that_ flirty.”

“I flirt with you all the time…” Lance said weakly.

“Yeah, but Hunk doesn’t flirt back,” Pidge said. “Come on, the guy _clearly_ likes you too. Stop leading him on and do something about it.”

“I’m not leading him on, okay?” Lance ran a hand through his hair, pushing stray strands off his forehead. “Sure, I might have kissed him on the cheek a little bit a few days ago, but he’s not sticking around for much longer, so I don’t really get what the big deal i--”

Hunk dropped both hands on the bartop on either side of Lance. “You did what?!”

Lance waved his hand. “Yeah yeah, I’m gone for this guy, we all know this. I’ve already been through this with Veronica. The point is, it’s pretty damn clear that he was leaving, so everything is basically just borrowed time right now.”

“Yeah, except that he hasn’t actually _left_ yet,” Hunk pointed out. “It looks like he’s sticking around a little while longer, and from what I can tell, he’s sticking around for you.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Why is everyone so adamant about this? He is not staying for me, that’s insane.”

Pidge groaned, tossing her head back in a familiar gesture of exasperation. “Why is this so hard for you to believe? He _told_ us that he likes you, and you seem to really like him, so I don’t get why this is such a problem.”

“Because he _can’t_ like me back, okay?!”

If Lance had thought his outburst would silence Hunk and Pidge once and for all, he was dead wrong. Hunk stared at Lance, his normally kind brown eyes piercing. “Why not?”

“Because...” Lance started, his voice catching. He cleared his throat and started again, his voice growing stronger with each word. “Because this was supposed to be a one-sided thing, something to pass the time. Maybe we’d hook up, and that’s it.”

“But…” Pidge prompted.

“But now he’s here, with his stupid eyes, and his stupid hair, and his stupid camera, and he’s sweet and funny and so goddamn considerate. The asshole. And...and if a guy like that can like me back...how the hell am I supposed to walk away?”

Pidge and Hunk shared a glance before breaking apart as Hunk leaned his forearms on the bar.

“Look, Lance, we get it. Even the parts you’re still not telling us--we get those too. We’ll always support you no matter what, you know that, but man, if you don’t at least give this a chance, you’re going to spend the rest of your life wondering.”

“That and you’ll be the biggest dumbass alive,” Pidge muttered into the palm of her hand.

“What she’s trying to say,” Hunk said with a pointed look in Pidge’s direction, “is that this is different--Keith’s different--and we’d hate to see you pass up the chance to have something real. To be happy.”

Lance screwed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. “Hunk....”

Pidge squeezed his hand. “We know you’ve got your reservations about opening up to people--hell, we all do in one way or another--but are you really going to let this chance slip away? Sure he might be leaving, but what if he feels the same way? What if he’s just as scared but willing to take the risk? Are you sure you don’t at least want to find out?”

“We’re not saying go run to his villa right now and sweep him off his feet,” Hunk added, “but just that you should give it a shot. You should give yourself a shot.”

Lance blinked and wiped furiously at his cheeks before setting his tray down on the bartop. “I’m taking my break.”

“Lance…”

“Hunk, Pidge. I love you guys, but you aren’t saying anything I wasn’t already thinking. Just...give me some room to do this my way.”

Hunk and Pidge shared a look before glancing back over at him.

“Okay,” Hunk said finally. “You got this, buddy.”

Pidge nodded. “We’re here for you, whatever you need.”

Despite the flood of emotions threatening to spill out of him, Lance felt the corner of his mouth quirk up in half a smile. “Thanks, guys.”

 

~^~^~^~

 

By the time the end of his shift rolled around, Lance had finally settled into a sort of contented impasse with the whole “Keith Dilemma.” He was no closer to figuring anything out, but he had at least decided not to think to hard on it.

Especially not when Keith had shown up right at five, his hair pulled up, and sporting a loose black tank top that invited more lingering glances than Lance would care to admit.

“Looks like someone finally got the memo,” he said, plucking at the strap of Keith’s shirt.

“Yeah, well,” Keith said, leaning in close enough that Lance felt the camera that was hanging from Keith’s neck press up between them, “I figured that if I’m going to stick around for a little bit, I might as well stop sweating through all my shirts.”

Lance hoped his voice wouldn’t betray how breathless he felt. “It’s still black.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up in that half-smile Lance had grown to cherish. “Would it make you feel better if I wore one of Shiro’s Jimmy Buffett monstrosities?”

A sudden image of Keith in an oversized obnoxious Hawaiian shirt covered in bright pink flamingos flashed through his mind, and Lance couldn’t help the laugh that came bubbling up.

“It might actually, yeah,” he said, shaking his head.

Keith’s smile widened, and Lance could have stood there gazing into those soft, dark blue eyes for ages, but Pidge’s call from further down the beach snapped Lance back into the present.

“Let’s get a move on! My dead grandmother moves faster than you two!”

Lance tore his eyes away to glare at Pidge and Hunk, both of whom hit him with knowing looks, before turning back to Keith.

“Shall we?” he asked, a barely repressed sigh sitting beneath the surface.

Keith nodded, pulling his camera off his neck and wrapping the strap around his wrist. “Lead the way. While you’re at it, you can finish that turtle rant you promised.”

Lance startled. “You were serious about that?”

Keith smiled, kicking off his flip flops as they reached the end of the boardwalk and the beginning of the soft white sand. “I wanna hear more about those loggerheads--they sound pretty badass.”

Lance tried to tamp down the warmth that threatened to overtake his entire body, but even so, he was sure his grin would split his face.

After his conversation with Hunk and Pidge, Lance was sure that things between him and Keith would have felt awkward or forced, that he’d overthink every word that was spoken, every gesture, every look. But instead, he found himself falling into a familiar rhythm, a push and pull of words and glances that felt both entirely comfortable and frightening at the same time.

The four of them strolled along the shore, and Lance revelled in the feeling of the cool wet sand between his toes, the laughter ringing loud over the sound of the gentle waves, the way everything else fell away and Lance could just _be_.

At first, Lance obliged Keith's request and chattered away about different types of turtles, stopping every once in a while to check on some of the nests he had helped rope off earlier in the season. Keith seemed happy enough to listen, asking questions here, offering dry remarks there, all the while the sound his camera's shutter punctuating the background like their own unique metronome.

Yet the further they walked, the further they strayed from talk of turtles, or sharks, or cameras, veering instead into deeper waters. And had he been the Lance of even just a few days ago, he might have thought their conversation too dangerous, too close to home, but the more time he spent with Keith, the less Lance found himself caring.

So gradually that Lance hadn’t even noticed, the sun began to sink towards the horizon, the sky growing more pink than blue as the clouds were painted in brilliant orange. He blinked, his voice trailing off in the middle of the story he was telling Keith about teaching his little sister the “stingray shuffle,” and he looked around.

“Where did Hunk and Pidge go?”

Keith shrugged, focus intent on crouching down close to a bit of still water that had pooled in the sand before the tide went out. He expertly clicked the various buttons on his camera before snapping a few photos.

Lance dug his phone out of his pocket, eyes widening at the time, and scanned through his notifications.

 

 **Gremlin Child** **[6:23pm]**

_in case you two are still making googly eyes at each other, just know we left you guys like 10 mins ago_

_have fun on your romantic sunset walk_

_see you tomorrow, dumbass_

 

Lance felt the heat creeping up his face even as the cooling water of the gulf swept over his feet. He scrolled down some more, and his heart stuttered.

 

 **Gremlin Child** **[6:24pm]**

_also he totally likes you_

_stop stalling_

 

Attached was a slightly blurry photo of him and Keith, Lance’s hands clearly waving about his face in the middle of some kind of emphatic gesture and Keith gazing at him with an expression that could only be called fond.

Lance locked his phone and shoved it deep in his pocket, turning back to where Keith was crouched with his knees in the sand.

“I guess we should probably head back?”

Keith pulled his head up from where it was very nearly touching the tide pool, a few errant strands of his hair capturing water droplets on the way. Lance watched as Keith’s eyes seemed to refocus on his surroundings, widening just the tiniest bit at the sky’s changed palette and the absence of their two other friends.

“What time even is it? Did you find out where Pidge and Hunk went?”

Lance rocked back onto his heels a little, letting them dig further into the wet sand. “Almost eight, and apparently they headed back over an hour ago.”

Surprisingly, Keith cracked a rather impish grin. “Fuck.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile back, laughter playing at the corners of both their mouths. He held out a hand to Keith, nodding back in the direction of Altea.

“Come on, Mullet. Better get you back before Shiro calls out the Coast Guard.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Keith muttered, taking the proffered hand.

Lance had just enough brain power left over to note the callouses across the other boy’s palms and fingers as he gripped Keith’s hands tightly, pulling him up before quickly releasing his hold. Lance’s skin tingled at the contact, and he resisted the urge to rub his palms against the fabric of his shorts.

He glanced over at Keith as they began walking once more. “Not the first time, huh? There’s gotta be a story there.”

Keith remained silent, though, face plastered with a hastily constructed indifference that Lance could see right through.

“Aw, come on, man! You can’t say something like and then leave me hanging.”

Keith squinted into the distance. “Is that a whale all the way out there? I think that might be a whale.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “It’s not a whale, these waters are way too shallow, now tell me the story.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Keeeeiiith.”

“Lance.”

Lance reached out a hand, gently poking at Keith’s side with each drawn out sound. “Keeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiith.”

Keith swatted at Lance’s hand. “Gah! Quit it. You’re so persistent.”

“Hush, you love it,” Lance said, knocking into Keith’s shoulder. “But really, are you gonna tell me or not?”

Keith gave Lance a wry smile. “Level ten friend?”

Lance bit his lip, torn between disappointment and amusement. He wanted to ask--he really, _really_ wanted to ask. But just as the questions bubbled up to his lips, he remembered all the times Keith had given him the courtesy of time and space to come forward on his own terms. At the very least, Lance could do the same for Keith.

“Alright, fine. But you should at least tell me something on my level. What am I, like a level seven?”

Keith snorted. “Try a level three.”

“You wound me, Keith. You wound me.”

“Well what level am I?”

Lance stopped and pretended to think on it, giving Keith a scrutinizing look. Truth be told, Keith, with all his earnestness and disarming honesty, had smashed through so many of Lance’s carefully constructed walls, had seen parts of him he’d kept hidden, even from Hunk. If Lance looked at their standing more closely, the number would be much higher than he’d ever have anticipated, but that didn’t mean Keith had to know.

At least, not right now.

“Well, I _thought_ you were level five, but after that comment? You’re demoted. Level four. I’ll take my tragic backstory back now.”

Keith snorted. “Will it make you feel better If I promise to tell you eventually?”

Lance was tempted to dig his heels in, joke around and say he’d never forgive him for such a slight, but the word “eventually” echoed in his ears, and he found himself smiling instead.

“It just might.”

The sand still felt warm beneath Lance’s toes, the heat of the day lingering in the soft white powder, but with every step closer they took to Shiro’s villa, the air began to feel colder, and Lance was desperate for time to slow, for the moment not to end. Yet, before he knew it, they were standing at the bottom of the villa’s porch steps.

Lance cleared his throat, shoved his hands in his pockets, shifted from foot to foot. “So, are you coming to the party on Thursday?”

Keith tilted his head. “What party?”

“Oh,” Lance said. “I thought Shiro might’ve told you. Allura’s Fourth of July party? She always throws a big shindig for the staff--I think she’s trying to make up for the fact that she’s British or something because she and Coran go all out.”

“Just staff?”

“Yeah, that’s what she tells people so rando resort guests don’t show up. Shiro’s invited every year though, and obviously you are too.”

“You sure?” Keith asked, thumb worrying at his camera strap. “Shiro could bullshit his way into ‘consultant’ status, but I’m just the freeloading younger brother.”

Lance chuckled. “I can’t say you don’t paint an accurate picture, but yeah I’m sure. You’re more than welcome.”

They crested the top steps and Keith turned just before the door, his gaze soft and shining almost violet under the orange haze of the sodium-lights. Lance’s breath caught in his throat, and even that, he found, was familiar now too.

“I’ll be there,” Keith said.

The smile that crossed Lance’s face was effortless. “Awesome. See you Thursday?”

Keith shrugged, leaning back against the door behind him. “Or tomorrow. Since, you know, I’ll be around.”

“Or tomorrow then.” Lance took a step back onto the top step, but refused to turn away, committed to making this last as long as he could. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Lance,” Keith responded.

With his head tilted back and his gaze filtering down through those midnight lashes, it took nearly everything Lance had to not march back up that step and kiss Keith right then and there. But instead he smiled and turned away, letting the sound of his feet against the concrete sidewalk drown out the ghosts of the unfinished conversation Lance felt he had left behind. Yet try as he might, whispers of words left unspoken, another breathless “I really want to kiss you right now” trailed after Lance like ribbons in the breeze.

_So why don’t you?_

_I want you to be sure_.

“I’m almost there,” Lance whispered to the night air.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Altea’s Fourth of July party was a much anticipated event among the staff, and Allura spared no expense. She also always insisted on being the one to set up and decorate, and it never failed to look anything less than fabulous.

Of course Lance would never be able to live with himself if he let her actually do all the work by herself, so, much to the chagrin of his overachieving boss, he showed up approximately two hours early, arms full of tiki torch fuel and kitschy paper plates plastered in tessellated American flags.

“Lance, what on earth are you doing here?”

“Oh darn,” Lance said, not bothering to hide his intent, “looks like I’m early. I guess I’ll just have to help you set up now. What a shame.”

Allura shook her head. “I should just start telling you the party starts at six instead of four, then maybe you’ll let me decorate in peace.”

Lance smiled, setting his basket of goodies down and unpacking it with practiced efficiency. There was no doubt in his mind that Allura really did appreciate the help, and their exchange was a time-honored tradition in its own right.

“You’d never be able to get anything past me,” Lance said, and he tapped at his forehead. “I’m sharp as a tack up here.”

“Which explains why you tripped over Mrs. Henderson’s dog and spilled cocktail sauce all over her chair, yes?”

Lance flushed. Admittedly, he might have been a _bit_ distracted, what with Keith showing up in yet another arm-revealing tank top, laughing brightly as Shiro stumbled through the gate because Allura had waved at him.

“I still maintain that the dog has it out for me.”

Allura sighed, shaking her head before throwing a red tablecloth deftly over one of the card tables she’d brought out from storage. “Yes, well that thing is a bit of a menace, isn’t it?”

Lance pulled at the opposite ends of the cloth, smoothing out the wrinkles. “You could always ban it from the deck.”

“I’d have to ban all dogs, and I could never do that to poor Bebe. Besides, I don’t really think it was the dog that was the problem, hmm?”

Lance’s eyes scanned the deck, looking anywhere other than at Allura. “Oh wow, look at all the stuff we still have to do! Should I go get more tables? I think I should get more tables.”

“Lance.”

He shifted his gaze over and, sure enough, Allura had that particular brand of mischief plastered on her face that she really only got when she’d heard a juicy bit of gossip.

“Please tell me you’ve at least kissed him already.”

He flushed red and turned away, grabbing a handful of tiki torches as he escaped to the other side of the deck.

Allura perked up like a hound on a scent, chasing after him and spinning him to face her. “So you have!”

“Well...”

“Oh for heaven’s sake! I thought for sure after that walk on the beach the other day…”

“I’m not going to pretend I hadn’t thought about it, but--hey!” Lance pulled away from Allura’s surprisingly strong grip. “How the hell do you know about that?!”

Allura pursed her lips looking off to the side with an expression that wasn’t nearly guilty enough.

“It was Hunk, wasn’t it?”

Allura shrugged.

“Traitor,” Lance muttered.

“It was only a matter of time before I found out, really. You’re not exactly subtle when it comes to your crushes--I mean, you did spend half of your last shift flirting with him and the other half staring.”

Lance sighed, the tiki torches sagging as his grip loosened. “If it’s a problem, I can have Rolo take over deck duties and I can do the daycare full time.”

“Oh no no no,” Allura said, reaching out once more to grab at Lance’s arms, but this time her touch was gentle, almost sisterly. “I’m only teasing! You’re still one of my best employees. I’m just glad to see you so happy.”

Lance stared at Allura. Was he really so obvious? By all rights, that his thoughts were constantly awash with questions of Keith--what to do, what he wanted, what _Keith_ wanted--should have caused enough distress to get him to stop. Yet, he couldn’t ignore how buoyed he felt each time he saw that mullet-haired photographer lean a little too far over a railing and nearly fall into a patch of sea oats trying to take a picture.

Allura pat him once on the shoulder before stepping back with a small smile. “Take your time on this one, Lance. I think it may be worth it.”

“Allura!” Coran’s voice called out from across the deck. “Where would you like the grill?”

“Over by the bar please!” she called back, and with a wink she turned, making her way back towards the main building.

Lance sighed and spun on his heels only to come up short when he nearly ran right into Pidge and Hunk.

“Oh! Hey guys. I didn’t even hear you.”

Pidge and Hunk both eyed Lance for a moment before sharing a look and a nod.

“Thinking too hard face?” Pidge asked.

“Thinking too hard face.” Hunk said.

Lance frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Hunk quickly scooped the tiki torch supplies out of Lance’s arms. “Don’t worry about it, bud. Pidge if you would?”

“Come on, Lance,” Pidge said, pushing at his back and ushering him across the deck. “I need help making these playlists and setting my speakers up.”

“Hunk, I think Pidge has been bodysnatched!”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” Pidge said as they surveyed the speaker setup.

“But you just told me I could help with the playlist,” Lance said, reaching for an extension cord. “The real Pidge would never let that happen.”

“The real Pidge would also never let their friend spiral into a mental crisis if they could help it either.”

Lance pouted. “I wasn’t spiralling.”

Pidge levelled him with a look. “You were close. It’s not a judgement, Lance, really. Just...focus on the party, yeah? Sometimes you gotta not think on things too hard to get the answer.”

“This coming from the person who stayed up for thirty-hours trying to solve a physics problem set.”

Pidge merely shrugged. “It was a lesson learned. Now come on.” They slid a sleek silver laptop across the makeshift DJ table that had been set-up. “Let’s see some of those trademark Party Lance Playlist skills.”

“Oh man, I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. I’d like to thank the academy--”

“And _no_ High School Musical.”

“You’re no fun at all, are you?”

 

~^~^~^~

 

By the time the last table was in place, Lance was soaked in sweat, but looking across the pool deck made it feel completely worth it. Everything was cheerfully plastered in Fourth-themed decor, streamers of red, white, and blue swooping in elegant, twisted arcs underneath the covered bar and out onto the main patio. Bowls piled high with snacks were laid out in neat rows, and the fresh layer of ice across the coolers glistened invitingly in the bright sun.

Hunk had planted himself near the grill, chatting with Coran as he helped set up the burgers and hot dogs, while Pidge kept close to the speakers, constantly adjusting the subwoofer, or fiddling with the treble.

Lance flitted around and made slight adjustments to the confetti distribution, or adjusted a tablecloth or two, watching as people slowly shuffled in. Allura took her hostessing duties very seriously, never straying too far from the entrance in order to greet everyone, so Lance took it upon himself to direct people towards the snacks or help them grab a beer.

As most parties went, it was empty one moment, and the next, Lance found himself threading through the crowd just to get to the red, white, and blue corn chips. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been able to notice if Keith had actually shown up with the dense swarm of employees and their families milling about

But, as it turned out, even crowds of people weren’t enough to keep him from noticing the bright laugh drifting over the crowd, his eyes snapping to that signature mullet like a magnet. Lance gave himself a moment to take in Keith’s red tank top and black shorts ensemble, so on-brand that Lance couldn’t help but smile. He had his hair swept up into a ponytail, though Lance could see wayward wisps of hair clinging to the nape of his neck in defiance. His camera bag hung loosely off one shoulder, a collapsible tripod peeking out from a side pocket.

Shiro was standing next to him, looking like a soccer dad at a team picnic with his America-themed swim trunks and fireworks button down, chatting with Allura while clutching a dish of what looked like seven-layer dip against his torso with one hand, running his other hand through his hair.

Despite how high-tech Shiro’s prosthetic was, it evidently was not designed to carry dishes _and_ account for Shiro nervously shifting his weight at the same time. Lance held back a laugh as the dip tipped forward, Allura scrambling to catch it, while Shiro turned various shades of red that couldn’t be accounted for by the heat alone.

Lance caught Keith’s eyes then, and Lance wiggled his eyebrows, darting between Shiro and Allura. Keith smiled and shook his head fondly, rolling his eyes as if to say _yeah, I know, it’s pathetic_.

“Hey, Lance, is there any Sam Adams left?” someone called from behind him.

Lance reluctantly tore his eyes away and turned to help Rax dig through the cooler. But of course, as soon as Rax walked away with his beer in hand, Mrs. Lopocaro asked if he could help her get the pool toys out for the kids, and then Coran needed more coal for the grill from the storage shed, at which Lance then ran into little Sammy’s parents who wanted to chat about the progress she’d been making, and on and on it went.

Yet despite constantly being waylaid by well-meaning daycare parents and co-workers, Lance's gaze would inexplicably find Keith's across the crowd. He couldn't help but getting caught up in those indigo eyes, in catching tail-end glimpses of Keith running a hand through his hair, or laughing at something someone said, his face bright and open and so damn distracting.

“Did you get it?”

“Hmm?” Lance snapped out of his reverie to look at Shiro, posing with as many miniature American flags as he could get his hands on, waiting for Lance to take a picture with the phone he was currently holding.

“Oh, uh,” Lance quickly snapped a few photos before handing the phone over.

Shiro flicked through them, smiling broadly. “They’re terrible.”

“Um,” Lance said uncertainly, “I can take a few more if you want…”

“Oh no, terrible’s perfect. They’re gonna piss Keith off so much.”

Lance chuckled, his eyes wandering up, searching out Keith in the crowd once more. Lance found him over by the grill, chatting with Coran and Hunk. He ducked his head, shoulders shaking, like he always did when he couldn’t help but laugh, and Lance softened.

Hunk must have spotted Lance looking because he smirked and nudged Keith’s side. Keith looked up, smiling at Lance, but the look was quickly quelled the moment he spotted Shiro, his face morphing into something close to horror.

“No,” he mouthed, and Lance laughed harder.

“Oh good, he saw me,” Shiro said, and shook his head so the tiny flags poking out from behind his ears waved in the breeze.

“Looks like Allura saw you, too,” Lance said, pointing behind Shiro to where Allura stood with her arms crossed, fond exasperation plain on her face.

“Oh shit,” Shiro said, snatching the flags out from his waistband, where one of them had been...strategically placed.

“So…” Lance said, once Shiro had successfully de-flagged himself, “how’s that going?”

“How’s what going?”

“You know...you...and Allura…”

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Me?”

“You know…” Shiro parroted, “you...and Keith…”

Lance looked anywhere _but_ Shiro. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh don’t you?” Shiro shot Lance a look over the top edge of his stars and stripes shutter shades. “What _exactly_ are your intentions with my brother anyways?”

Lance gulped, his heart racing, suddenly reminded of why he called Shiro “Muscles”. “I-intentions?”

Shiro chuckled and clapped Lance on the shoulder so hard that Lance tripped. “I’m just kidding. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Well,” Shiro said, pushing the sunglasses firmly back onto his nose, “I do have some brotherly concerns of course, but you’re both adults. What you decide to do is up to you.”

Lance crossed his arms. “What makes you think I’m doing anything at all?”

Shiro snorted. “Lance, I say with the utmost respect as your friend, but you’re about as subtle as a freight train.”

“Hey!” Lance protested. “I can be subtle! I can be super subtle. Like, ninja levels of subtle.”

“You almost lit yourself on fire with a tiki torch two hours ago because you were staring at him.”

Lance pouted, casting his gaze out to the side.

Shiro let out a breath, knocking a hand against Lance’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t say that to be mean. I guess, in a way, I’m just trying to say it’s okay.”

Lance couldn’t help the snort that came out. “Are you trying to give me your blessing or something?”

Shiro shook his head. “Nothing like that. Like I said, you’re both adults, and far be it for me to tell either of you what to do. But I know you, and if, for whatever reason, you felt like because we’re friends, you were holding back...well, just know that’s not a factor.”

Lance looked back to Keith, lingering on his smile, the piercings glittering in the sun, the way he looked so unburdened. He _wanted_ that. He wanted that so badly that he felt like he was aching with it.

But Shiro was right. He’d been holding back. Everyone knew it, and they’d called him out on it. One by one, his excuses were being stripped away, and Lance found himself scrounging for something, anything, to keep him anchored. He’d been clinging so tightly to the belief that giving in was a bad idea, that he found himself floundering at the possibility of letting go.

Now Shiro was all but giving him the green light, and he felt himself freezing.

“I--” the words caught in his throat.

He wasn’t sure what he would have said had he been given the chance to continue, but at that moment, a loud clanging echoed across the deck.

Lance looked to where Coran was standing in his “Too Cool for British Rule” apron, holding a Texas-shaped dinner bell and ringing it with all of his might.

“Right, you star-spangled spitfires! Come and get it!”

Lance turned back to Shiro, but the other man just gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder before heading off to where people were converging on the grill and food tables. Lance followed suit, moving through the lines with the others which didn't much help with the feeling that he had just been left adrift at sea, victim to the whims of the currents around him.

When he eventually made it through, a plate stacked high with food in hand, he snagged a fresh bottle of beer from the closest cooler and began the search for his friends. He spotted Allura’s shock of bright silver hair at a small table behind the pool and headed over, doing his best to avoid running into children and stray tote bags.

“--ike sixty, right? He’s definitely mentioned ‘the War,’” Pidge was saying, throwing air quotes around the last words.

“What? No way.” Hunk waved them off, fork still in hand. “He’s forty-five, at most.”

Lance stopped, balancing his flimsy plastic plate full of barbecue. “Who’s forty-five?”

“We’re trying to figure out how old Coran is,” Pidge said around a mouthful of cornbread.

“Oh he’s at least a hundred and twenty,” Lance said, squeezing in a folding chair between Hunk and Keith.

“Uh huh,” Pidge said. “Sure.”

“Allura, you’ve known Coran the longest,” Shiro piped up from his seat at the unofficial head of the table. “You’ve gotta know.”

Allura tugged at a strand of hair. “Well…”

“ _You_ don’t even know?” Lance said, his voice cracking on the last syllable.

“It never came up!”

Pidge threw up their hands. “Does no one know how old he is?”

“I told you,” Lance said, trying fruitlessly to scoop up baked beans with a plastic fork, “he’s a hundred and twenty. Minimum. When he says ‘the War’ and I’m pretty sure he means ‘the Great War.’”

“Do you at least know when his birthday is?” Keith asked.

Five pairs of eyes slid towards Allura, who spluttered, albeit elegantly, at the question.

“Well, of course I do! It’s… oh bugger. Now I know he’s told me. He said it’s sometime around when Saturn is in Capricorn. Or was it Jupiter in Virgo? Oh dear.”

Everyone turned to stare at Coran, who was still manning the grill, twirling a spatula in each hand.

“You think he saw the Berlin Wall come down?” Pidge asked.

“I bet he saw the Wall go up, dude,” Hunk replied and the other solemnly nodded.

“How much do you want to bet he’s met Napoleon?” Lance leaned in, whispering to Keith, who started laughing so hard he snorted.

“You’re thinking too small,” Keith said, laughter still laced through his voice. “Charlemagne.”

Lance grinned back, letting himself linger for just a moment on the curve of Keith’s mouth. “Genius.”

“--ight! Lance, you’re next!” Allura exclaimed.

Lance whipped his head around. Okay, maybe it was more than a moment. “I’m what now?”

“Your birthday,” Hunk clarified. “You’re the next one of us.”

“Hell yeah,” Lance said. “Leos represent!”

Keith scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re a Leo.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “And what are you, a Scorpio or something?”

Keith’s jaw clicked shut and he pushed back from the table. “No comment,” he said as he walked back towards the grill.

“Classic Scorpio move!” Lance called after him before turning to Shiro. “Is he really a Scorpio?”

Shiro shrugged. “I mean, his birthday’s October twenty-third if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lance beamed. "You're shitting me."

"I don't know," Hunk said, "I'm not convinced. He seems more like an Aquarius to me."

"What? No way," Pidge countered, "he definitely would be an Aries."

"Pidge, you think everyone is an Aries," Allura said.

A full blown zodiac-based debate ensued from there, but Lance hardly paid attention. Instead, his eyes trailed Keith as he walked the edge of the pool towards the coolers.

“Taking in the view?”

Lance turned to see Pidge grinning at him from across Keith’s vacant chair.

Maybe it was the beer he’d had throughout the day, or the way Keith looked back to give him a half-smile, but Lance suddenly felt bold.

“You could say that.”

“He’d say yes, you know,” Pidge said, their voice softening. “If you asked.”

Lance bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. “You really think so?”

“Lance.”

Lance’s eyes met Pidge’s. “Yeah?”

“You deserve to be somebody to someone, and...and Keith looks at you like you’re everything.”

Lance held their gaze for a moment, and he nodded subtly.

“Thanks, Pidge,” he said quietly before he pushed away from the table, grabbing his empty plate and throwing it in a nearby trash can.

Without another word, Lance walked down the steps towards the beach, kicking off his sandals once he hit hot white sand. He walked past the rows of stacked beach chairs, past the red lifeguard tower, and straight until he arrived at the water’s edge. Lance breathed in the salt-laced air, feeling the dull buzz of alcohol hum in the back of his head like a chorus of cicadas. The lapping waves of the Gulf reached towards his toes with foamy white fingers, almost touching but not quite making it.

He took a step forward, and then another, until both feet were within the water’s reach, the next wave to shore gently cresting over the tops of them. The cool water kissed at his ankles, sending shivers up his legs.

“He’d say yes, huh?” Lance whispered to no one but the distant waves, peaking white against the blue ocean before him.

Lance nodded once, twice to himself before turning back, sand clinging to wet feet as he padded his way towards the scattering of blankets laid across the beach, basking in the distant din of the party and the metronomic beat of gentle waves against the shore.

 

~^~^~^~

 

Lance ran his hands over the soft blanket beneath him, picking at the pilled fabric as he watched people from the party slowly make their way down to the water, settling onto their own blanketed squares of beach. He spotted Keith right away, of course, walking beside Hunk and Pidge, his head thrown back in a laugh, probably at something Pidge had said.

There was something...lighter about him, Lance thought, something unrestrained. That night at the garage had unlocked a new side of Keith, one that laughed freely and loudly, one that walked for hours along the beach just because he could, one that kept catching Lance’s gaze and smiling softly. 

Absently, Lance brought his hand to his lips, recalling the way he had caught the very corner of Keith’s mouth when he kissed his cheek. He swore he could still feel the static crackling between them, the headiness of their combined breaths.

_When are you finally going to let yourself go after the things you want?_

His sister’s words echoed in his mind as his eyes trailed after Keith. The ache settled high in his chest, a feeling of longing that he had thought faded years ago, and he let himself entertain what it would mean to chase after it. 

To run his fingers through Keith’s salt-tangled hair. To know exactly how Keith’s mouth tasted. To feel the flex of muscles under his hands, to feel the intensity of that violet gaze from mere centimeters apart. 

But more than that, Lance wanted to figure out what made Keith laugh the brightest. To learn what made him cry. 

To understand why he wanted to leave.

To know why he had stayed. 

Lance sighed, putting his beer down on the sand and turning back towards the water. The ache hurt worse when he thought about the bags piled on the back of Keith’s bike. 

_Are you leaving then?_ _  
_

_I guess that depends_

“Mind if I sit?”

Lance looked up to see Keith standing over him, a paper plate piled high with red, white, and blue cake in hand. 

“Sure thing,” Lance said, patting the space next to him. “Pop a squat.”

Keith gave a little laugh, and something dangerous and bright bubbled in Lance’s chest. 

“So...” Lance started, tapping his knee nervously as Keith settled in beside him, close enough that their arms brushed, sending soft shocks of electricity running through him. “You enjoying the party?”

Keith looked over and smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s...nice.”

“Nice? That’s all you have to say?” Lance asked, a teasing lilt belying his words. “Hours of hanging streamers and you give me ‘nice’?”

Keith ducked his head. “I mean, I was gonna say it’s nice not having anyone wait on me, but that just makes me sound like a rich asshole.”

“Yeah, that does make you sound like an asshole.” Lance chuckled, gently jostling Keith’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“Yeah?”

Lance smiled. “Yeah.”

He nodded towards the giant piece of cake Keith still had in his hands.

“Now, are you gonna share that, or are those two forks so you can eat it as fast as humanly possible, because I’m gonna be honest with you, Hunk made that and I would not judge you if that were the case.”

Keith snorted before passing one of the forks to Lance. “And here I thought I grabbed enough for the both of us.”

Without ceremony, Lance dug in, his fork staining the instant it hit the blue icing. “You are vastly underestimating how much I love Hunk’s cake.”

“You sure that’s not a euphemism?”

Lance didn’t say anything, just watched as Keith took a bite, his eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

“Oh fuck, that’s good.”

Lance smirked. “Right? It’s my second favorite part about this whole shindig.”

“Second?” Keith cocked his head. “What’s your first?”

“The fireworks,” Lance said, looking up towards the sky, dramatic orange and red streaking like scars against the azure blue.

Keith shook his head before taking another bite of cake. “You know, somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“What can I say? I like the boom.”

“Okay, now _that’s_ a euphemism.”

And as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, they traded off snagging fork-fulls of cake, laughing at hastily constructed innuendo attempts, and both blatantly not bringing up all the moments skin touched skin, or someone’s gaze held on just a second too long.

Eventually it became dark enough that Allura and Coran shut off the resort lights in favor of letting the tiki torches give a flickering dim glow, and Lance couldn’t stop the want from circling in his mind. He snuck glances at Keith’s profile, the gentle curve of his neck, the shine of his earrings, his indigo eyes. He passed over it all, his eyes caressing where his hands would not. 

But why not? Beyond the fact that Keith was leaving at some indeterminate time in the future, what was really stopping him anymore? Because right now all Lance could think was that he’d already fallen halfway if not more. It was still going to hurt when Keith left, so why add regret to that list?

This boy was everything Lance wanted, everything he needed. He was kind and thoughtful and smart and driven and stubborn and weird and funny and...

Keith looked over at him, and all Lance could think about was the fact that this boy was here right now, sitting next to him, his eyes glinting like shards of amethyst in the tiki lights.  

“What?”

And that one word was all it took for Lance to lunge forward, his hand cradling Keith’s cheeks, capturing his lips with his own.

 _Boom_.

Keith made a sound of surprise but quickly melted into the kiss, and Lance felt everything slot perfectly into place. His pulse thrummed in his veins, his heart raced in his chest, and his hands shook just the barest bit. 

But fuck if Keith responding with enthusiasm wasn’t the best thing he’d felt in a long time. 

_Boom_.

Lance pulled away, his breath leaving him in a rush, and his eyes fluttered open.

Keith was staring at him, his lips barely parted, surprise etched on his face. Lance watched as explosions of color played across the shine in Keith’s eyes, starbursts of light in those dark violet pools, his skin faintly reddened from the sun. 

“We’re missing the fireworks...” Keith said breathlessly, their eyes locked. 

“I don’t care,” Lance replied, and he leaned forward again, and this time Keith met him halfway.

Lance had one hand planted on the picnic blanket, the other had drifted from Keith’s cheek to his neck. His fingers wove through the soft strands there, thumb giving the ghost of a caress to the curve of his jaw. 

But all this barely registered as Keith’s teeth grazed his lower lip, and Lance didn’t need to open his eyes to see stars. 

His hand tangled further into Keith’s hair, and Lance was suddenly glad for the extra length that mullet afforded him. 

Keith moaned quietly, and Lance chased the sound, chased the taste of icing and just the barest hint of salt on his tongue, noting that Keith smelled faintly of sunscreen.

Kissing Keith was better than anything he had imagined--and he’d _imagined_. All of the ‘I really want to kiss you right now’s and the ‘why don’t you’s had set his mind reeling, running through all the times he could have kissed Keith but hadn’t. But he’d never be able to think up how every vein felt like it was on fire, how his skin crackled with electricity at Keith’s touch, how gently Keith cradled his cheek even as he kissed hungrily back.

He couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t change a thing.

 _Boom_.

They broke apart, though not going far, their foreheads pressed together, and Lance felt the warmth of Keith’s breath caress his burning skin.

His eyes fluttered open and they went a little cross trying to take in this beautiful boy sitting so close.

Keith’s eyes were sparkling, and a grin brighter than the burst of the fireworks graced his features. He lifted a hand, his fingers gently sweeping the hair from Lance’s forehead, the barely-there touch leaving a trail of stinging heat in its wake.

“What changed?” Keith whispered, no small amount of wonder laced through his voice.

Lance shook his head and looked down, a small smile on his lips. “Nothing.” He looked back up, eyes darting across Keith’s face, his lips, his eyes. “I guess I just didn’t want to wait anymore. Didn’t want to keep pretending I don’t want this.” He cupped his hand against Keith’s cheek, thumb gliding over his cheekbone. “Don’t want you.”  

“You want me?” Keith asked and the look on his face sent Lance’s stomach swooping.

Oh, he was in trouble.

Lance let out a breathy chuckle, the temptation to show Keith just how much he wanted him itching at the tips of his fingers. But the past few weeks tumbled through his mind at once, and Lance knew that he had to make this clear, had to give Keith the words he deserved--no, the words he _needed_ to hear.

Lance leaned back and stood, tamping down the lump in his throat that Keith’s momentary look of confusion and fear induced. He held out a hand and smiled.

“Come with me.”

Keith reached up and took Lance’s hand, squeezing tight as he pulled himself up. They took off down the beach, away from the rest of the partygoers, neither relinquishing the other’s hand. That was fine with Lance though, as he couldn’t help but to think how perfectly their fingers and palms fit together, and how he had wished he had only been brave enough to do this sooner.

They walked in silence, each stealing small glances every few steps, and exchanging shy smiles. Eventually, they got to a quiet stretch of sand, and Lance tugged gently on Keith’s hand.

“Here,” he said softly, pulling Keith down to sit beside him.

The gentle breeze, the rolling of the waves, and the dim light of the stars felt so familiar, felt so much like that night not so long ago, when Lance had first let himself entertain the possibility of opening himself up to someone like Keith.

But there were also so many reminders of just how different this was. The bursts of fireworks, the soft smiles, and their tangled fingers. The tension still felt taut, like the string between them had been pulled tight, and Lance wanted so badly to bite down on those kissable lips, to hear Keith’s soft moan as he tugged at that thick black hair, to feel the heat of Keith’s sunkissed skin under his hands.

Except this time, Lance knew he could do all that, and it felt so _right_.

He tried not to let that scare him.

“So,” Keith said, his voice soft and scratchy in the dark, “is this the part where I ask you ‘what are we’?”

Lance snorted, but it didn’t quite belay the small trembles he could feel racing through his hands, his arms. “I guess it is.” He ran his thumb over Keith’s knuckles, delighting in the discovery of all the little dips and valleys, the rough edges of old scars. He took a breath to continue, but Keith beat him to it.

“Before you say anything I want to make something clear.” Keith shifted in the sand next to Lance, pinning him to the spot with the intensity of that violet gaze. “I’m all in, I think you know this. But...I can’t do this if I don’t know if you are as well.”

Lance nodded once. “I’m in. I...I like you, Keith,” he breathed. “A lot. Probably more than I should if I’m being honest.” He lifted a hand, brushed his knuckles across Keith’s sharp cheekbones, curled his fingers around his ear. “But I don’t want to hold back anymore.”

The smile Keith gave Lance then turned his bones to liquid fire. “Then don’t.”

Lance leaned in, a whisper on his breath. “I don’t plan to.”

And when their lips met, each opening for the other, allowing hungry bites and eager tongues, Lance forgot about the fireworks completely, his thoughts filled with nothing but Keith. The way he gripped his shirt, the way he smelled faintly of sunscreen long-since worn off, of the sounds made so close that they drowned out everything else. These things hit Lance in quick succession like the ceaseless crashing of waves, but he found himself surrendering to them, surrendering to the tidal wave that was Keith.

 

~^~^~^~

 

When Keith and Lance finally made it back to the party, it was to no fewer than five pairs of raised eyebrows and knowing smirks. But Lance didn’t care, more focused as he was on taking in every detail of the hand clasped in his own, the warm electric feeling of having Keith so close next to him.

The rest of the night unfolded in a contented blur of laughter, casual touches, and heated looks that left Lance’s head reeling. By the time 11 PM rolled around, most of the partygoers had already dispersed, and by midnight the cleanup was practically done, but Allura still insisted on shooing everyone away, demanding that nobody else help.

Not wanting to risk incurring her patented “mom voice,” Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Keith quickly shuffled off the pool deck towards the side gate. Though, when Lance glanced back, he did see two shocks of white hair shining under the gentle lights of the resort.

They took the side path between the villas and the resort, Pidge and Hunk walking slightly ahead discussing their newest high-tech automatic something or other, while Lance and Keith held back a few steps, hands still linked, shoulders nearly brushing. Once they reached Shiro’s villa, the other two said their goodnights to Keith, leaving Lance behind with cheeky smirks.

Lance shook his head, turning towards Keith, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“So…”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “So…” he echoed.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?”

Keith pursed his lips. “Nothing, I don’t think. Why, what did you have in mind?”

Lance scoffed and looked off into the distance. “Well, if I told you it’d ruin the surprise.”

“Oh, it’s a surprise is it?”

“Yup!”

Keith tapped at his chin with his free hand, feigning deep thought, but Lance could see him failing to hold back the playful tilt edging in at the corner of his mouth. “Hmm. I guess I can be free.”

Lance leaned in, enjoying way too much how quickly color pooled in Keith’s cheeks in response. “Meet me at the marina? Seven AM?”

“Seven?” Keith narrowed his eyes slightly. “What’re you planning?”

“I guess you’ll just have to come and find out,” Lance murmured.

A soft chuckle brushed passed Keith’s lips. “I guess I will. See you at seven then.”

“See you.”

Lance leaned in just that last little bit, pressing his lips to Keith’s. It was certainly the most chaste of their kisses that evening, but it didn’t leave Lance any less breathless than the others as he walked away.

 

~^~^~^~

 

The next morning found Lance awake long before his alarm even had the chance to go off. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and rushed through his morning routine, excitement coursing through his veins. His mamá, up at dawn as usual, watched with keen eyes as Lance flitted about the house getting things ready, but offered no more than a raised brow and half-chuckled _chao_ as he all but sprinted out the door. Lance barely registered the look, however, keen as he was to get to the marina.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot, the sky was blooming in gentle shades of pink, the hulls of the white bows cast in a soft rose glow. Lance scanned the rows of narrow, floating piers until he found the particular vessel he was looking for.

The _Blue Lion_ was nothing flashy by any standards, a simple white motorboat with three rows of benches, but it was sturdy and ran like a dream. The boat had belonged to Allura’s father, Alfor, before Altea had gotten off the ground and made a name for itself, but now Allura only ever used it on special occasions, otherwise letting Lance have free reign of its use. Lance tried not to take advantage of Allura’s unwavering generosity, but he also couldn’t deny that having access to a boat in his line of studies was an unparalleled opportunity.

Lance climbed down into the vessel with practiced ease and began strapping down the various bags of supplies he had brought with him. Once he had finished, he sat and waited, closing his eyes as the gentle rocking of the waves beneath him calmed his swirling mind, awash as it was with reminders of the night before. The world behind his eyelids glowed a dull gold with the rising sun, but in his head everything was dampened under the cover of night, Altea’s soft blue glow, the bursts of fireworks in the sky.

The sound of footsteps on the dock startled Lance back to the present, but he swore he could still feel the ghost of Keith’s lips on his. His eyes flew open, and he saw Keith standing above him, wearing his now-signature black tanktop and board shorts, his camera bag slung over one shoulder and his hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, revealing the tantalizing glint of piercings in his ears.

“Hey, you made it.” Lance said a bit breathlessly. Truth be told, part of him hadn’t expected Keith to actually show, convinced that last night was just a fluke, an illusion concocted from a cake-induced sugar overload.

“This better be one hell of a surprise,” Keith said, crossing his arms in annoyance, but there was a half-smile on his face that told Lance he didn’t really mean it. “I can’t believe you made me get up early the day after a party.”

Lance grinned. “You must really like me or something.”

The look on Keith’s face softened, and a warmth bloomed in Lance’s belly as Keith’s smile grew fond. “I guess so.”

“Well,” Lance said, pulling his eyes reluctantly away from Keith’s and patting down at the bench across from him, “hop on in, Mullet. We’re going shopping.”

Keith quirked a brow, but he stepped forward, handing Lance his camera bag before climbing in.

Lance did his best to steady the small boat, though Keith still stumbled a little bit. He settled in, and Lance passed him his camera bag before untying the dockline and pushing off. He started the engine, a small, comforting rumble, and he navigated through to the open water of the bay.

A comfortable silence fell over them, broken only by the constant rumble of the motor and the occasional _shhk_ of Keith’s camera shutter. The early morning haze hadn’t quite burned off yet, and the just-risen sun shed a soft light that bounced cheerily off the waves. It was a calm day, the surface of the water just barely disturbed by the sea breeze, and Lance directed the boat under the shadow of the largest bridge off the mainland.

“So,” Keith said after they had moved back out into the sun, “are you finally gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope. I told you, it’s a surprise.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Not one that ends with you murdering me and dumping my body in the gulf where no one will find me, right?”

“Oh, please,” Lance said, waving a hand. “Like I’d do that. I’d never risk having Shiro come after me trying to avenge your death.”

Keith laughed, a bright tinkling sound. “I think you’re underestimating how much I annoy him. He’d probably thank you.”

Lance hummed. “Possibly. I think I heard him quoting that killing-my-brother kickstarter vine the other day. Besides, I think you could take my scrawny ass.”

Keith’s eyes raked over Lance’s bare arms. “I wouldn’t say scrawny…”

Lance flushed, feeling a wave of warmth crash through him. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d totally win in a fight. Besides, you’d need me to drive the boat back.”

Keith smirked. “Would I now?”

“Wait a second.” Lance narrowed his eyes. “Coast Guard...oh my god you totally hijacked a boat! You stole a boat and Shiro called the Coast Guard on you!”

“Well, it was the family boat, so technically I didn’t steal it.”

Lance shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ve got an inkling,” Keith said, leaning forward and placing a hand on Lance’s knee.

Lance couldn’t seem to catch his breath as he peered into Keith’s nearly violet eyes.

“First the motorcycle, now stealing boats? Good thing I’ve got a thing for bad boys, huh?” His voice was far too breathy to be smooth, but Lance found that he didn’t much care.

“Good thing,” Keith said quietly before leaning up and pressing his soft, soft lips to Lance’s.

Lance’s eyes fluttered shut, and if he thought he was breathless before, it was nothing compared to now. The kiss wasn’t mind-blowing in any technical sense, little more than a gentle press of lips, but Lance felt it like electricity in his veins.

He let himself indulge for one moment, two, before reluctantly pulling away.

“Alright, Mullet, as much as I like kissing you, let’s not crash the boat, mmkay? Allura will kill me if I bring this thing back with so much as a scratch.”

Keith grinned, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, but he leaned back, sitting properly on the bench once more. “You’re no fun.”

“Oh well if you’re bored, I can just drop you off and you can go hang out with Shiro. Much more fun to stay inside and read trashy horror novels than being taken on a personal boat tour with someone who knows all the secret hide-outs.” Lance mimed like he was going to turn the boat around and head back to the dock.

“So you _are_ gonna take me somewhere nobody will find my body.”

Lance snorted. “You keep joking like that and I’ll start thinking you’ve got a thing for serial killers.”

Keith shrugged and turned around to face the bow, bringing his camera up once more and snapping a couple of pictures of birds resting on the mangrove trees to their right. “You’re not the only one who likes bad boys.”

Lance shook his head but slowed the engine, drifting closer to the little islands of mangrove trees, allowing Keith to get a few more shots.

They’d moved into a short stretch between two keys, the water nearly motionless, not even a breeze ruffling Lance’s hair. The sun had finally risen fully, and the water shone a brilliant sea-glass green. Below the surface, the water was so clear that they could see little bits of seagrass waving in the gentle current, the occasional crab scuttling past.

There was no one else around them, the ripples of the last boat that had gone by barely disturbing the water. Lance cut the engine, and the air finally felt quiet, the only sounds the distant buzz of cicadas and quiet splashes as a fish or a bird broke the surface.

“Lance, why are we stopped in the middle of the gulf?”

“Shh shh,” Lance held up a finger. “Just wait a second.”

Keith blew a breath out of his nose, but sat back in his seat, camera held loosely in his lap. 

Lance looked out around them, taking in where the bright pale blue of the sky met the vibrant, jeweled emerald of the sea. He watched as the little wakes radiating out from the boat’s hull calmed before they stopped altogether. 

“There,” Lance said finally. He closed his eyes, breathed in deep. “Now we’re still.”

“Pretty sure the boat is still moving, Lance.”

“Only because of the current. It’s moving, we’re just caught up in it.”

“Is that so?”

A moment of silence and then--

_Shhk_

Lance popped his eyes open, bright spots dancing against his vision. When they cleared, however, what he saw was even brighter. Keith was sitting there just as he had been and staring at the camera clutched tightly in his hands, the widest smile Lance had ever seen from him stretching across his face, almost dizzying in its beauty. 

“I got it...” Keith murmured, his voice filled with wonder. “I finally got it...”

Lance tilted his head. “Got what?”

“You! I finally got you!” 

Lance snorted. “Pretty sure that already happened yesterday.”

Keith practically launched himself across the boat, slamming next to Lance on his seat. “No, not that you ass, look!” He shoved the camera’s screen in Lance’s face, making his eyes cross a bit.

Lance gently placed his hands over Keith’s where they rested on the camera, pushing the device far enough back so he could see. 

“It’s just a picture of me, what’s the big deal?”

Keith looked aghast. “Wha-what’s the big deal?” He stood suddenly, blocking the sun in front of Lance, his edges becoming gilded. “You never sit still! I have been trying for _weeks_ to get a photo of you but you’re always moving or out of focus or looking away—you’re by far the worst subject I have ever photographed.”

“Gee, thanks”

“No, that’s not what--just look! You’re still! You’re completely motionless, perfectly in focus. Close to three-hundred fucking photos and I _finally_ got you!”

Lance toyed with the camera in his hand, swiveling the little playback screen on its hinges. “You’ve been trying to take pictures of me?”

Keith looked down, color creeping up his cheeks. “Well, yeah. You’re...kind of beautiful.”

Lance froze, a flush overtaking his whole body, warming him from his toes to the tips of his ears. He wished he could have said something smooth, something like, “That’s rich coming from you,” but he couldn’t quite seem to make his mouth work.

“I...what?”

Keith sat back down, those goddamn eyes level with Lance’s own and dangerously close. “You’re beautiful, Lance.”

And suddenly Lance was lunging forward, the camera laying forgotten in his lap as he cupped Keith’s jaw and brought their lips together in a hungry kiss.

“Just for the record,” Lance said, barely pulling away, “you’re beautiful, too.”

Keith answered by wrapping his arms around Lance’s neck and kissing him once more.

 

~^~^~^~

 

They eventually stopped making out when Lance shifted to get a better angle and Keith’s camera nearly tumbled out of his lap.

Luckily, Keith managed to catch it, and both of them looked up at each other, eyes wide, before breaking out in bright laughter.

Lance took the opportunity the break in their kiss afforded to restart the boat’s engine, steering them back out into open water, away from the calm of the mangrove islands. He still refused to tell Keith exactly what he was planning, so when Lance finally beached the boat on an empty sandbar, Keith’s eyes widened.

“What’s this?”

Lance hopped out and spread his arms out wide. “Behold! Your own personal beach.”

Keith tilted his head, but climbed out after Lance, cradling his camera carefully in his hand as he splashed into the ankle-deep water.

“I thought you might want to get some landscapes here,” Lance said, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “You always make this face when you get pictures at the normal beaches, and you said you didn’t really like taking pictures of people, so I thought maybe you’d like it here, and I guess it’s kind of stupid because it’s not exactly a _beach_ beach--”

Keith interrupted him with a kiss to the cheek. “I love it.”

Lance looked up tentatively. “Really?”

Keith smiled, bright and genuine. “Really. Thank you, Lance.”

Lance smiled after Keith as he took off down the sandbar, an excited jaunt to his steps as he took in their surroundings, turning this way and that to judge the angle of the sun and the fall of his shadow. Truth be told, Lance had thought of taking Keith out to this spot a while ago, understanding full well the frustration of over-crowded beaches and the need for open spaces. If he had even half of Keith’s photographic talents, Lance was sure he’d be just as frustrated whenever some stranger waltzed through his shot.

Turning back to the boat, smile still in place, Lance began to rifle through the few bags he had brought with him, pulling out wrapped sandwiches, and chilled drinks from a cooler. He set up a simple picnic a yard or so away from where the water lapped lazily at the sand, sneaking peeks at Keith every few moments. Once everything was in place, he scanned the bright expanse of sand for Keith, spotting him crouched dangerously close to the water, one leg out for balance. Lance was sure he hadn’t even noticed that he was getting his shorts wet as he leaned forward to take a photo.

“Hey, Cecil Beaton!” Lance called. “Come over here before you fall in.”

Keith stood and brushed at the now soggy hem of his shorts. “I wasn’t gonna fall in,” he grumbled. “And how do you know who Cecil Beaton is?”

Lance shrugged. “You’re not the only one with Google skills. Here.” He tossed a red bottle to Keith who deftly caught it and stared at the label with narrowed eyes.

“Did Pidge tell you to pack these?”

Lance furrowed his brow. “No? I just noticed you drink a lot of Gatorade. Why?”

“Nevermind,” Keith said, a curious flush on his cheeks, and he twisted off the cap.

“Alright then keep your secrets,” Lance shrugged. “I’ll just ask Pidge about it later.”

“Please don’t,” Keith muttered, taking another sip of his drink but not looking like he was enjoying it very much.

Lance simply laughed, the sound coming easy from his lips. In fact, everything seemed to come easy to him as the morning waxed into the afternoon. The way he leaned into Keith’s shoulder to peek at his camera’s screen as he scrolled through photos, the casual smiles they shared, the simple touches that had once seemed so monumental. It was almost dizzying to Lance how it felt like nothing and everything had changed, how effortless it was to just to let himself _be_ with Keith. Be in the moment.

He had told Keith he wouldn’t hold back anymore, but he was beginning to wonder if he had actually held back at all to begin with. Sure, he had tried to keep his distance, tried to keep Keith firmly on the other side of his walls, keep the mask in place, but it had been a lost cause to begin with, given how easily Keith had smashed through all his defenses.

Lance knew that he should feel terrified---and part of him was---but none of that really mattered when Keith smiled and ducked his head, looking up at Lance from beneath his eyelashes with that infuriatingly indigo gaze, setting Lance’s heart pounding loudly in his chest with so much want.

None of it mattered when he could just lean forward and kiss the pout off his lips, forcing those violet eyes to flutter shut.

All too soon, the sun climbed high enough into the sky that the heat was quickly leaving bearable and approaching stifling. Lance packed up the few things he had laid out while Keith ran off to snap a few last minute shots. When he returned a few minutes later, his entire front coated in a light dusting of powder-fine sand, Lance couldn’t help the snort that escaped. Keith blushed and brushed brusquely at his shirt, and Lance marvelled once again at just how simple it was to reach up and ruffle out the bits of sand stuck in those raven-black locks, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Careful,” Keith smirked, “or I’m going to start thinking that you actually like my hair.”

Lance curled his fingers further into it. “Now, why would you think that?”

“Just a hunch,” Keith said, leaning forward to steal a kiss before swiftly climbing into the boat.

Lance took his time driving back to the marina, not quite ready to leave Keith--a thought that both excited and scared him in equal measure.

When they finally drifted up to the dock, Lance expertly lashing the boat to it, he found himself reaching out and grabbing Keith’s wrist.

“So when can I see you next?”

He was sure he looked desperate, but he couldn’t hide the longing that was seeping out of every pore.

It seemed like Keith didn’t mind, though, not when he seemed to melt, his face softening under his smile.

“I’d love to say tomorrow,” Keith said, and he chuckled. “I mean, if that’s not totally lame, but Shiro sort of Shanghai’d me into some bullshit family stuff that’s supposed to take up the next few days.”

“Oh, okay.” Lance tried not to let the disappointment show on his face, but he felt his stomach sink a little. He plastered a bright smile on his face, though, standing up and stepping off the dock, reaching down and offering his hand to Keith.

“Well,” he continued, “you always know where to find me. I’m nothing if not a creature of habit.”

“Right,” Keith said, and then his smile turned dangerous. “So, if I were to, say, run into you while you were working at Altea and drag you into the supply closet to make out…”

Lance bit his lip and ducked his head. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble, Kogane.”

“That’s not a no.”

“No, that’s not a no.”

 

~^~^~^~

 

Despite managing to maintain a near constant stream of texting all weekend, by the time the end of Sunday rolled around, Lance was restless, almost desperate to see Keith again, to see that half-smile, to run his hands through that mullet, to hear the low husk of his voice as he teased Lance for saying something dumb. He was practically buzzing, running around the house looking for things to do.

After helping his mamá clean up from dinner, he began pacing again. Veronica eventually took pity on him and dragged him to the living room to watch a movie, but even _Legally Blonde_ couldn’t distract him.

“Alright, what is up with you?” Veronica finally asked, looking away from where Elle was buying a new computer whilst in a bunny suit. “I thought you finally kissed this guy, so what gives?”

Lance groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Ah hufth srem alwuhgm aniwuhma gefestufess.”

“What was that?”

“I said, I haven’t seen him all weekend, and I want to kiss his stupid face!”

Veronica stared at him for a long moment. “Oh honey, you’ve got it bad.”

“I know!” Lance threw his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I just hadn’t realized how much I saw him until I couldn’t. And now he’s all I can think about.”

“To be fair, that hasn’t really changed.”

Lance sighed and hit his head rhythmically against the couch cushions.

“Why don’t you go see him?”

“Huh?”

“Right now,” Veronica said, pointing out the door. “Just, go see him. Take him on a drive or something.”

Lance huffed. “I would, but he’s out with his brother doing some art thing for his parents.”

Veronica tilted her head. “Art thing?”

“His parents are collectors or something.” Lance waved a hand vaguely. “Family made their money in the art market a couple generations ago I guess, but they’ve still got the business.”

“Ooh, he’s old money. This explains so much.”

Lance hit his sister with a pillow.

“Shut up, Vero.”

Lance turned his attention back to the TV, trying to focus on Elle who was just starting to understand that Vivian was a much better friend than enemy.

“So, you gonna bang him or what?”

“Vero!”

Veronica cackled, and Lance threw another pillow at her before throwing himself on top of her, trying to squish her back into the couch.

She retaliated by elbowing him in the side, and then it was on. At least until Lance accidentally kicked the coffee table and almost spilled Veronica’s red wine all over the rug, and their mamá yelled at them to knock it off.

“You two better not be doing what I think you’re doing, because I know the only children in this house are upstairs asleep, and so help me God, I will make you drive yourselves to the hospital.”

Lance and Veronica froze mid-fight, Veronica half on top of Lance, shoving a pillow in his face and trying to knee him in the stomach, while Lance was trying to yank at her short hair. They looked at each other, eyes wide, and suddenly they were sitting properly on the couch, a cushion separating them.

“Sorry, mamí,” they chorused.

“That’s what I thought,” she said before turning to go back upstairs.

They stayed on their respective sides of the couch for the rest of the movie, and when Veronica popped in another, this time _Easy A_ , Lance didn’t complain, settling in.

Halfway through, Veronica fell asleep, snoring softly on the couch, and Lance smiled. He let it go for a few more minutes before turning the TV off and gently jostling his sister. When she didn’t wake, he gave in, throwing one of the blankets over her and heading to his own bedroom.

He ran through his usual bedtime routine, which always seemed to calm him down, but the energy buzzing through his veins didn’t stop. If anything, by the time he flopped down on his bed, curling up with his phone in hand, it had gotten worse.

He thought back to what Veronica had said, wondering if it really was as easy as she made it seem.

 

 **Sharkboi** **[11:09pm]**

_how’d the art thing go?_

 

 **Tila Tekeithla** **[11:12pm]**

_Boring, as always, but our parents seem happy_

 

 **Sharkboi** **[11:12pm]**

_what r u up to now?_

 

 **Tila Tekeithla** **[11:12pm]**

_Home going through some of the photos I took Friday. Why?_

 

Lance stared hard at the text until the letters started blurring.

“Ah, fuck it,” he muttered, typing out a quick message.

 

 **Sharkboi** **[11:15pm]**

_gotta go do something real quick_

 

 **Sharkboi** **[11:15pm]**

_talk to you in 20min or so?_

 

 **Tila Tekeithla** **[11:16pm]**

_Sure. I’ll probably be up for a while_

 

Lance smiled, a giddiness bubbling up from his stomach. He tossed his phone on his bed before springing up and rummaging through his drawers.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, his body moving more on instinct than anything, but he knew that he really just wanted to see Keith.

He got dressed, scooped his phone back up, and ran quietly downstairs, his footsteps soft with hard-earned practice. He made it to the door, throwing on his flip flops and grabbing his keys from the rack, when he heard a murmur from across the room.

He turned to see Veronica still dozing on the couch, her eyes barely fluttering open.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she slurred before dropping back to sleep.

Lance chuckled before walking out the door.

The streets were empty as he drove the familiar path towards Altea, the only sound keeping him company being the wind rushing through his open windows. Even the cicadas seemed quiet, as if the world around him was holding its breath.

He resisted the urge to drive faster, just trying to get to Keith as quickly as possible. He reminded himself he had time. Maybe not plenty of it, little enough that it still felt like a giant clock was counting down in the background, but still time.

Lance pulled into the Altea parking lot, rolling to a gentle stop in his usual spot. He hopped out of Blue, his feet barely hitting the ground before he was unlocking his phone and pressing the call button.

He began walking down the path as the phone rang once, twice, three times...

“Hello?”

Keith sounded confused, his voice a little gravelly, like he had just been asleep.

“Keith, hi!” Lance said, a little breathlessly as he jogged up to a familiar looking door.

“Lance, why are you calling me at eleven thirty at night?”

“So, I was gonna throw rocks at your window--you know, all romantic-like, like in the movies--but then I realized that Allura would probably kill me if I accidentally damaged her property. Also, I totally forgot which window’s yours, and I know Shiro gets cranky when he gets woken up.”

There was a long pause, a slight catch of breath and the quiet rustle of fabric. “...Are you here? Right now?”

“It’s a high possibility.”

Lance couldn’t hear anything on the other end of the line, and another moment of self-doubt-induced panic crept in. This was a really bad idea. What was he thinking, just showing up out of nowhere? Keith probably wanted to sleep, probably didn’t want to see hi--

The villa door flew open, Keith standing on the other side, silhouetted by the hall light behind him, still clutching his phone to his ear, hair clearly sleep-rumpled on one side.

“Lance?”

Keith’s voice echoed through the phone, and Lance almost didn’t want to hang up, if only to hear more of him.

“Hi,” he said, feeling like all the air had left his lungs.

God, he looked good. An oversized t-shirt hung loose around his frame, the barest hint of sleep shorts peeking out from under the hem, his hair half falling out of his ponytail in lazy sweeps around his face.

“Hi,” Keith said, and Lance was happy to note that he sounded a little breathless himself.

“Hi.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up, and Lance nearly ran up to kiss it, but he held himself back, just barely.

“You said that. Several times, actually.” Keith tilted his head, bringing his phone away from his ear and ending the call. “So, are you gonna tell me what you’re doing here?”

Lance shook himself out of his daze, clearing his throat. “Right. Yeah. Go get changed into your bathing suit and meet me out here as soon as you can.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, but the smile never left them. “What are you up to?”

“Why don’t you come and find out?”

Another long pause, and then, “Wait here.”

Lance ducked his head, trying to wrestle the wide smile off his face. He had some semblance of cool left, and he needed to keep it as long as he could.

All that flew out the window, however, when Keith stepped back out, and the dopey grin returned.

“What’s that look for?” Keith asked as he walked down the steps and up to Lance.

Lance couldn’t help it. He wrapped an arm around Keith’s waist, dragging him closer, cupping his jaw in one hand and bringing him up for a lingering kiss.

He pulled back, and his heart skipped a beat at the dazed look on Keith’s face.

“I’m just happy to see you,” Lance said.

A smile crept across Keith’s face like the morning sun breaking the horizon. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

The arm around Keith’s waist tightened involuntarily, and Lance leaned down for another deep kiss, breathing in deeply.

“Mmph,” Lance said as Keith kissed fiercely back. “You--”

“Hmm?” Keith asked, moving back slightly.

Lance turned his head to nuzzle into Keith’s hair. “Why do you smell like coconut?”

This close, Lance could see the tips of Keith’s ears grow pinker.

“I--well, I ran out of soap, and it was either that or mango.”

Lance giggled and pulled back, sliding his hand down Keith’s arm to his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Hey, don’t make fun of me, make fun of the stupid Publix that only carries tropical soaps.”

Lance mock gasped, even as he tugged Keith to follow him down the path and towards the pool gate. “How dare you call Publix stupid. I’ll have you know, that’s where shopping is a pleasure.”

“A pleasure for old people,” Keith muttered. “And tourists who want to smell like Mango Passion Swirl.”

Lance grinned, pulling Keith up the stairs and to the keypad.

“The code doesn’t work after eight,” Keith said.

“Ah ah ah.” Lance raised a finger. “Maybe not for guests, but you’ve got a VIP with you.”

Lance punched in his employee code, and the keypad chimed cheerfully, flashing green. Lance shot Keith a wink as he pushed open the gate and strode inside.

Altea was a beautiful place during the day, no one who visited it could deny that--the glittering white marble, the tasteful blue and seafoam green accents, the elegant furnishings. But somehow, Lance thought it was even more stunning at night. The marble shimmered gently against the blue light spilling out from the pool’s water, the safety lights within the building radiating a soft green light that met the blue in a calm, cooling mixture. Everything was quiet on the deck, the chairs neatly lined up, waiting patiently for the next day’s guests, the only sounds the distant crash of waves and the constant trickle of the small waterfall between the pool and hottub.

Lance practically skipped across the well-worn wood of the deck towards the pool, stripping off his shirt and tossing it on the closest chair. He paused for just a moment to take in the gentle quiet around him, the mesmerizing light dancing in blue-green sparks off of the serene surface of the water, before jumping into the pool cannon-ball style. He crashed through the water, sinking fast as tiny air bubbles tickled his skin in their flight back to the surface. His feet touched down on the bottom and he pushed hard, shooting back up to the top, head and shoulders breaking through into the muggy night air, a wide smile plastered on his face.

Keith simply stood there, hip cocked out, a bemused expression on his face as he watched Lance lazily tread water. “Aren’t you afraid someone will hear us? You do work here, you know.”

Lance floated up onto his back, spreading his arms and legs out in the warm water. “That’s half the fun.”

Keith snorted. “Have you done this before?”

“Nope!” Lance flipped back over to face Keith who had sidled just a bit closer to the pool’s edge. “I’ve always wanted to though. Now get in here, the water’s fine.”

Keith’s eyes darted across the water’s surface, but he didn’t get any closer, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, one foot self-consciously rubbing at the back of his other leg.

Lance pushed himself over to the edge, resting his forearms on the warm flagstones that ringed the pool.

“Hey, come on man, I’ve seen you in the gym here before, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Especially not after seeing all this nonsense.” He gestured to the rest of his body hidden beneath the water.

Keith raised a brow, a deadpan expression on his face. “You really think that’s supposed to make me feel better? Do you even realize how hot you are?” He turned away, but Lance could still see the gentle flush of color in his cheeks under the blue glow of the pool lights. “It’s kind of unfair, honestly,” he muttered.

Lance laid his cheek against his forearms, his own cheeks burning against his skin. “That’s rich coming from you. Have you seen yourself?”

Keith merely shrugged, keeping his head turned, eyes trained on the dark beach in the distance.

"Keeeeeeeiiiith," Lance whined, putting on his best puppy eyes.

But Keith didn't respond, just stayed as he was looking out to the side.

"Keeeeiiith, come on, we're both pretty it's fine.” Lance pushed off from the pool’s edge, drifting weightlessly back into deeper waters. “Come swiiiiim with meeeeee."

“I don’t really like swimming,” Keith said, but Lance found it hard to believe with the way Keith’s eyes were tracking him through the water.

Lance gave a few practiced backstrokes before flipping around to tread water. “Is that so?”

Keith peered down into the water, crossing his arms. “I mean, what’s so fun about floating around in a cement human fish tank?”

Lance chuckled. “You’re asking the wrong person, Mullet. Certified human fish over here.”

“Fair point.”

Lance started making lazy zig-zags through the water, slowly threading his way back towards the pool’s edge. “Come on, at least put your feet in or something. It’s no fun by myself.”

Keith sighed. “Okay okay.” He lowered himself to the pool deck, settling on a dry patch of stones before swinging his legs over and into the luminescent blue water.

“See, that’s not so bad.”

“It’s alright,” Keith mumbled, giving an experimental kick.

Lance ducked down a bit closer to the water’s surface, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Just alright?”

Keith shrugged.

“Because I could think of a few other ways to describe it.”

“Could you now?”

Lance nodded, lips dipping below the water and back up with the movement. “Mmhm. Relaxing for one.” He pushed forward a little closer. “Enjoyable.” A little closer. “Soothing.” He floated right beside Keith, looking up at him, watching the blue light dance across his features. “Fun.”

“Is that all?”  

Lance shook his head. “Nope. There’s one more.”

“And what would that be?” Keith asked, voice low and sultry.

Lance placed his hands on the stone edge, pushing himself up from the water and leaning in close to Keith.

“Exhilarating,” he whispered, relishing in the slight shudder that went through Keith at the word.

This close, Lance could feel Keith’s short breaths brush across his cheeks, could see the ring around his eyes, so dark blue that it almost looked black. Lance leaned forward just a hair more and Keith moved to meet him, eyes fluttering shut. That is, until Lance leaned away, a wicked grin on his face as he fisted a hand in Keith’s shirt and yanked, pulling him back into the water with a crash.

Lance resurfaced a few feet away and watched with a smirk as Keith spluttered back to the surface, shoving swaths of wet hair from his face. His t-shirt, now thoroughly soaked, clung enticingly to his chest, showing hints of the ridges of hard muscle beneath. It was for that reason that it took Lance a moment to realize that Keith was staring him down, murderous intent clear on his features.

“You should see your face,” Lance laughed. “It’s price--”

Keith lunged, and Lance yelped, cutting back through the water to avoid Keith’s reaching hands.

“Get back here,” Keith growled, pushing forward again. “We were having a moment!”

Lance darted away, laughing. “Gotta catch me first.”

Keith gave chase, and Lance cut through the water, practically swimming circles around him.

“How the fuck are you so fast?”

Lance swam a perfect backstroke, kicking water in Keith’s face. “I was on the swim team in high school.”

“Of course you were,” Keith grumbled, and he splashed water in Lance’s direction.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve just got a look, that’s all.”

Lance raised a brow. “A look?”

“You know, all that,” Keith said, gesturing vaguely towards Lance.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Keith swam closer, a predatory look in his eyes as he pulled the clinging fabric of his shirt from his skin, tossing it back to the edge of the pool. “How specific are we talking?”

“Why don’t you start from the top and work your way down,” Lance said a bit breathless as he took in the expanse of Keith’s bare chest, his delicate but gently sun-kissed complexion, the defined planes of muscle.

One more stroke and Keith had closed the distance between them. “I can do that,” he murmured. He moved his hands slowly up Lance’s arms to his shoulders before his grin shifted from coy to devilish and he shoved down with all his might.

Lance only managed to let out an indignant squawk as he was forced under the water. He surfaced a moment later with little grace and much flailing.

“Kogane, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Oh no, did I ruin the moment?” Keith asked from the other side of the pool.

Lance grinned and swam after him, launching himself across the water to the shallow end, and reaching out a hand to latch onto Keith’s foot. He pulled, and Keith spun around with a yelp.

Before he could recover, Lance stepped forward and crowded against him, caging Keith in against the wall behind him with his arms.

They were both breathing heavy, neither of them moving. Water spilled from the raised hot tub above them, the splash of the artificial waterfall spraying errant droplets on both of their faces. This close, Lance could see straight into Keith’s eyes, the indigo almost entirely taken up by his wide pupils.

He watched as Keith looked down at his lips, before dragging his eyes slowly upwards to meet Lance’s gaze once more.

“Alright,” Keith murmured, “you caught me. Now what?”

Lance leaned in close, feeling a rush at the hitch in Keith’s breath as he brushed his nose against Keith’s. “I have a few ideas.”

Keith tilted his head up the tiniest but. “How much you wanna bet they’re the same as mine?” he asked, lips just barely brushing against Lance’s as he spoke.

“Why don’t we find out,” Lance whispered and he closed the small distance between them, capturing Keith’s lips fully with his own in a heady kiss.

Keith’s lips were soft and pliant, opening up eagerly under the press of Lance’s mouth, and Lance revelled in the feeling.

He let his hands wander below the surface of the water to grab onto Keith’s waist, relishing in the slide of his warm, wet skin beneath his fingertips. He tasted like salt and smelled like chlorine, but Lance didn’t mind at all, pressing impossibly closer, his skin buzzing like electricity at every point of contact.

Keith met Lance’s enthusiasm with equal fervor, hooking his arms around the back of Lance’s neck and pressing up to the tips of his toes as he licked into his mouth.

And suddenly, it wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.

Lance slid his hands further down Keith’s side, down past his hips, reaching to grab the back of his thighs, squeezing once for permission. Keith caught on, allowing Lance to lift him up higher against the wall, wrapping his legs around Lance’s waist.

Lance moaned, the new angle changing _everything_.

The kiss turned from heady to hungry, neither of them minding the warm water from the hot tub pouring over their necks, their shoulders, as they gave into the push-pull. Lance’s hands slid up Keith’s thighs, hips, chest, before wrapping around his back.

One of Keith’s hands tangled into his hair, tugging gently, and Lance bit his lip in retaliation. The sound that slipped from Keith’s throat at that set Lance reeling, needing more--more contact, more pressure, more of those sinful sounds.

Lance placed his hands on Keith’s sides, thumbs running across lean muscle and ribs, as he broke away from Keith’s face, leaving a trail of hungry, open kisses across his cheeks, along his jaw, up to the soft skin just behind his ears.

“Lance,” Keith gasped out above him, tangling his hands even further into Lance’s damp hair.

Lance nipped at Keith’s ear, raising a hand to run his fingers around the curve of the other one, toying with the metal piercings there, warm from the heat of Keith’s skin.

“Is there something you needed?” Lance asked huskily, slipping the words out between kisses.

Keith tightened his legs around Lance’s waist, the resulting pressure sending something hot and dangerous coiling into Lance’s stomach. He dragged his hands down Lance’s neck, his back, around to his chest and up, letting his nails graze slightly over the skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He gripped Lance’s face between his hands, pulling him back up to meet Keith’s gaze.

“Don’t be an ass,” Keith practically growled, taking the opportunity to lift himself just a little higher, using the new angle to set Lance’s entire world on fire as he bore down onto him with hungry lips and a seeking tongue.

Lance clutched Keith tighter, holding on for dear life and Keith filled all his senses and made him dizzy. Here, now, with Keith, nothing else mattered--not the splash of the water, nor the lingering heat in the muggy air, and certainly not the ticking timebomb in the back of Lance’s thoughts, reminding him of all the time he’d wasted when he could have been doing _this_.

He was just bold enough to start sliding his hands downwards, down Keith’s back, caressing the lean muscle, when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

Lance and Keith froze, both slowly turning their heads.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“A-Allura, heyyyy,” Lance said, trying to act casual, but he couldn’t help the grin from pulling at his face. He was sure he looked like a mess, hair wet and disheveled, lips swollen, cheeks burning a bright, guilty red. That Keith was still clinging to him like a koala bear, looking just as wrecked didn’t much help the image.

“Lance, you’re aware that I didn’t give you the after-hours code so you could use my resort as a hook-up spot, correct?” Though Allura’s tone was stern, Lance could have sworn there was a sparkle in her eye that would have been charming if it weren’t so downright frightening. “And Keith?”

Keith released his grip on Lance’s shoulders and slid off of him until he was standing in the pool, a look of god-fearing terror in his eyes.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the pool is closed to guests after eight pm, yes?”

Lance could have sworn he heard Keith gulp. “N-no, ma’am.”

“Oh, good,” Allura continued, the same terrifyingly pleasant smile plastered on her face. “I thought that perhaps you both had missed those details.”

“It won’t happen again,” Lance said, holding up the first three fingers of his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“I’m sure it won’t. But believe me, I _am_ putting you on pool cleanup tomorrow morning.”

And because Lance had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, he blurted out, “I don’t work on Mondays.”

Allura shot him a look that said, “are you sure you want to test me?” but Lance forged onward.

“Aw, come on, ‘Lura. Just this once? I’ll take an extra shift at the daycare to make it up to you?”

Allura narrowed her eyes, and Lance felt like his soul was being weighed.

“Alright, fine,” she said finally. “But only because I’m happy for you.”

Lance’s smile was wide as she turned to walk away. “You’re the best!”

Allura’s only response was to raise one, elegant middle finger in the air behind her, heels clicking out rhythmically against the wooden deck.

Beside Lance, Keith let out a deep breath, placing one hand on the pool’s edge for support.

“That...that was terrifying. How is she so terrifying?”

Lance tapped a finger to his chin. “I think it might be the accent.”

Keith shuddered slightly. “I get why Shiro likes her now.”

“Oh shit,” Lance whispered, realization striking him hard and fast. “She’s gonna tell Shiro and then he’s gonna kill me.”

“...why do you look so pleased?”

Lance nodded and placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “It would be an honor and a privilege to die by his hand.”

Keith sighed, and Lance could see him shaking his head. “One of these days I’ll be concerned about your weird infatuation with my brother.”

“Aww, don’t worry, babe, you’re still the Brogane for me.”

“Babe?”

Lance’s eyes widened, his heart skipping several beats. “Oh yeah you know, I call everyone babe. You’ve definitely heard me say babe before, right? Bye, Allura babe! See, totally normal.”

“Sure, babe,” Keith said.

Lance wanted to keep going, tried to keep a straight face, but the laughter came bubbling out of him, and soon Keith was joining in.

“Come on, Mullet,” Lance said, laughter still laced through his voice. “We should probably get out before Allura comes back and actually fires me.”

“I don’t know,” Keith mused, trailing after Lance as they waded through the water. “She’s terrifying but something tells me she wouldn’t be able to actually fire you.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance climbed the stairs out of the pool and turned. “How do you figure that?”

Keith stopped halfway up the steps, knee-deep in water, his hand on the railing, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Muppet Fries’ as he looked away.

“Huh?”

“Puppy eyes!” Keith blurted, gaze still averted.

Lance smirked and crossed his arms, feeling rather self-satisfied. “Aww, is Tough Guy Kogane weak against some big ole sad blues?”

Keith stomped the rest of the way up the stairs and brushed quickly past Lance. “Shut up, Sanchez.”

They picked a pair of chairs off to the side of the pool, a pair of short palms dripping lazily over the resort fence, further secluding them from any more inquisitive bosses. For a while they simply sat and chatted, waiting for their swim trunks to dry but in no hurry for them to do so, despite how chilly the breeze felt. At one point, however, Keith grew quiet, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his cheek across them as he looked over at Lance.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” he said quietly, the blue glow of the pool sparking the violet in his eyes to life.

“You’re welcome.” Lance smiled, a small laugh escaping his lips. “And thank you for not killing me when I showed up unannounced at eleven-thirty on a Sunday.”

A corner of Keith’s mouth ticked up. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat there for a few more moments, just smiling at each other, nothing but the sound of gently crashing waves in the distance and the soft splash of the water flowing from the hot tub to the pool. The air felt charged, but in a way that felt way more dangerous than just the sexual tension crackling between them. It felt like that night of the bonfire, at the garage, during the fireworks, Lance’s heart full to bursting.

“Well,” Lance said, abruptly standing up and offering Keith a hand. “We better get you back.”

Keith took his hand, but when he pulled himself up he didn’t let go. “Lead the way, babe.”

Lance was grateful that the light was too low to reveal his blush. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

They took their time walking back, even though they were both clearly fighting off yawns by that point. They didn’t say anything, just walked in companionable silence, their entwined hands swinging gently between them.

All too soon, however, they found themselves at Shiro’s villa, the orange glow of the sodium-light spilling around them.

“I guess this is where I leave you,” Lance said.

Keith turned to face him, stepping backwards up one step so that they were the same height.

“I guess so,” he said, his voice low and his eyes dark.

Lance reached up and cupped Keith’s face in his hands, bringing him oh so gently down for a soft, tentative kiss, before pulling away.

He started to step back, but Keith caught his wrist, squeezing it.

“You call _that_ a goodnight kiss?”

And then Keith was yanking him forward, pulling him in for something longer, dirtier, something that left Lance dizzy and dazed enough to wonder how he would be expected to walk to his car, let alone drive after that.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

And with that, Keith turned around and strode inside, only the slight fumbling of his keys giving away how affected he really was, too.

Lance stood there long after the door had closed, the soft breeze and sounds of the quiet night filling the air. Only once he felt like he had caught his breath again, he began the trek back to his car, a wobble in his step and a lightness in his heart.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in his car, cheeks still burning, head thrown back against the seat, that Lance finally began to understand how deep he was, drowning when he thought he had been treading water. Yet, he found that he didn’t mind. Because at least for now the whispers of his fears were nothing compared to the pounding in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> us: *calls fic salty kisses*  
> also us: *does not have them kiss until 100k*
> 
> PSA: so because of how the rest of the story is going to pan (heh) out, the next two chapters will likely be shorter than what you’re used to. _*reader voice* But Liv and Dani, you guys say short and really you mean less than 20k._ Yeah, we know. We have a problem. Don’t @us. Point is, 7 and 8 will hopefully be to you sooner but they will be a little shorter and also a little fluffier. But don’t be fooled. It’s all ominous fluff. Think of this emoticon when you try to define ominous fluff :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and here’s a shameless reminder to leave comments and kudos---we love hearing from you, and we gush over literally every comment. They mean everything to us, and we’re so happy so many of you love this fic as much as we do <3
> 
> Also, don’t forget to check out our tumblrs. We’ll post occasional sneak peeks/snippets give you updates on chapter progress, and answer asks! You can find us [@thetolkiengeek](https://thetolkiengeek.tumblr.com) (Liv) and and [@snowthunder](https://snowthunder.tumblr.com) (Dani)
> 
> WRITING SHENANIGANS 
> 
> Liv: …did you just look up loggerhead turtles?  
> Dani: YES  
> Liv: I fucking love you omfg  
> Dani: did you know that the largest recorded turtle weighed about 2000 lbs? because I now do  
> Liv: BIG BOYS
> 
> Liv: *talking shit about her roommate and her roommate’s dumb bf*...but really the nutribullet was the last fucking straw  
> Dani: …..what a sentence. I’m all for smoothies but it must be bad if the blender is an issue  
> Liv: IT’S ON THE COUNTER ALL THE TIME  
> Liv: IT’S NOT MINE  
> Liv: IT’S NOT VANESSAS  
> Liv: IT’S LEAKING GUNK  
> Liv: GET IT AWAY FROM MY KETTLE  
> Liv: Anywho i’m calm  
> Dani: Mood  
> Dani: Also btw I’m more in love with you now just saying  
> Liv: LMAO  
> Liv: Was it the nutribullet hate?  
> Dani: The reasoning behind it mostly because kin
> 
> Dani: *trying and failing to write sexy things* The scent of him, the feel, the taste  
> Liv: Of cotton?  
> Dani: rHJIERAJHIAREKHOAOTEJH  
> Dani: Do not eat the cotton  
> Liv: I’m sorry, is it bad i just made myself laugh so hard i cried?  
> Dani: No it’s fine I made a pretty ugly sound

**Author's Note:**

> [Official Fic Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12130135307/playlist/6SObcl35i51J7FAH6KNy6b?si=pe4AvaboRXKXfsPjrleZNg)  
> [NOW THERE'S ART (by the amazing artistic-snachel)](http://artistic-snachel.tumblr.com/post/181227863586/a-recent-commission-i-did-for-snowthunder-and)  
> [MORE ART OMG (thank you apfelm00s)](https://apfelm00s.tumblr.com/post/181405973216/i-got-csp-yesterday-and-wanted-to-try-it-out-so-i#notes)  
> [APFELM00S YOU'RE KILLING US](https://apfelm00s.tumblr.com/post/181437409391/sketches-for-salty-kisses-because-i-can-lance#notes)  
> [OH SHIT THERE'S MORE (by lotldraws, dear god we're in love)](http://lotldraws.tumblr.com/post/183759411341/some-beach-handholding-cause-the-fic-salty-kisses)  
>  Olivia's Tumblr: [thetolkiengeek](https://thetolkiengeek.tumblr.com)  
> Dani's Tumblr: [snowthunder](https://snowthunder.tumblr.com)


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